Shinigami Rules
by AngelWhoIsNotASerialKiller
Summary: Shinigami cannot fall in love with humans. Those were the rules that Light later came to resent as he looked into the eyes of his mortal enemy. He should have been dead long ago. Rem was a sneaky witch. He knew she planned it this way. LXLight
1. Kira the Savior

**UPDATE: 1/16/09 **_I have gone through this chapter and edited out any mistakes that I might have. The rest of the chapters are on the way, so please enjoy, and I really want to know how to make my writing better. Don't be afraid to give me constructive criticism because this is mainly what I shoot for when I write something. My hobby is really reviewing fanfiction since I know how much a good review matters to authors, so if you have any good stories to recommend PM me. _

This idea would not leave me alone, so Light becoming a Shinigami has made its way. Hopefully this plot hasn't been overdone. I'm really looking for constructive criticism on this, simply because I need to be better, so any advice I would love greatly. PLEASE HELP ME BE A GOOD WRITER!!!!!!! sorry psyco moment.

Warning that this will be yaoi LXLight, and there's slight one-sided RyukXRem if you squint really hard, though it's not really evident in this chapter. So I'd really like some feedback because I'm pretty enthusiastic. Also if anyone can offer me a beta I'll be really happy.

I don't own Death Note

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The Shinigami World and all its decay stretched out before Light Yagami. The man's brown eyes took in the desert-like landscape, knowing that the realm was a dying mess. Ryuk said himself that the Death Gods didn't really bother with humans anymore, that their existence was one of boredom and monotony. The world of the Shinigami was simply sand and ruins, a dark purplish sky expanding infinitely into the horizon, while the occasional breeze echoed in the emptiness of it all. A few orchards of dying trees growing rotten fruit were visible from where he stood. Ryuk described the apples as tasting like sand. Even from a distance he admitted that the wrinkled skin of the putrid fruit made his stomach gurgle.

All the realm's inhabitants did was sit around their dying world, gambling and making fools of themselves. It was only occasionally that they wrote a name in their Death Notes to extend their lifespan. Like their realm, the Shinigami were ugly creatures. Many of them were skeletal, others were fat and covered with slimy substances. The reapers were all diverse in they way they looked, but one thing they did have in common was that they were all deformed in one way or another.

Light was to become one of these monsters. However, unlike them he still retained his human form. He was good looking, with soft brown hair, a smooth complexion, and above all, his incredible intelligence. He stood with his dark companion overlooking a group of Death Gods playing with the remains of human skulls, occasionally hissing with displeasure when their luck turned on them. One of them cackled, throwing its bird-like head back, while the others glared daggers, tightening their knobby disfigured fists.

"Sad isn't it?" Ryuk said. Despite his statement, the reaper's face was twisted in its usual grin, displaying an impressive amount of razor sharp teeth. Ryuk reminded Light of a twisted lanky clown fitted with a shark's mouth. He was complete with pasty white skin, with purplish lips and marks of the same color around his bulging yellow eyes.

"So this is it?" Light asked. This was where he'd be spending the rest of eternity. The newborn Shinigami was to rot like these creatures and it unnerved him. He licked his lips with a dry tongue. Shortly after arriving, the world seemed to sap all moisture from his body, and he was dying for water. Glancing around almost unwillingly, all he saw was sand and ruins, not a drop of liquid in sight. Ryuk said there was no heaven or hell for a human that used a Death Note, that there would only be nothingness. Was this the nothingness he was talking about?

"Told you it wasn't that great," Ryuk floated forward on his ragged black wings, while Light followed on foot. He had just died. The thought sent a large rock plummeting to the bottom of his stomach. Kira had almost become a god, but unlike a god, he died begging and screaming at what he knew to be a useless spectator for help. He'd gone through forty seconds of panic after the Shinigami wrote his name in the Death Note, pleading with the reaper to write the names of all the men after him. He was slightly ashamed of himself for it, but was more bitter towards Ryuk for one, killing him and two, bringing him to this decrepit place.

"So I'm here to become a Shinigami, right?" Though the inhumanly thin creature beside him wasn't moving quickly, Light found it hard to keep up. The sand in this world was odd and sucked at his shoes. It was eerily cold and felt wet and hard, almost like fish scales. In fact, the entire world was freezing. Light wrapped his arms tightly around himself, shivering. All he wore was a thin black shirt and pants, hardly suitable for freezing climates.

"That's right," the floating Death God confirmed. "I recommended you to The King."

"The King?"

"You're very interesting Light, not to mention smart, and that would be a waste to send to oblivion don't you think?" Ryuk's gravelly voice seemed amused.

"He agreed?" Light was surprised. Ryuk's rather cruel speech earlier made Light convinced for sure that once he died he'd cease to exist.

"I told him all about you, Kira," the reaper laughed dryly. "Let's just say he's impressed with your resume." He didn't like the way Ryuk's face seemed to become more frightening with every second that passed. This entire scenario was bizarre, and the part of him that was still in denial tried to convince the other half this was a dream, but Light knew better. This was his new home.

"Why is it so cold?" he shuttered as a soft breeze blew by. It felt like a knife on his skin, the thin fabric providing little protection.

"It just is. Kind of fitting. You'll get used to it. Weather kind of changes too from time to time. Either it's really hot or really cold. The sand however, is a different story." An image of Rem came to mind, and Light looked under his feet with horror.

"You don't mean?"

"The entire realm is dying off, and you know what happens to us when we die. Just goes to show how lazy we've become," the Shinigami seemed to sigh. "You've met pretty much everyone who still has some dignity, the rest are just gamblers."

"I get a Death Note, right?" Light looked to Ryuk's profile, eager to rid the image of dissolving Death Gods from his mind.

"Eager aren't we?" the Shinigami remarked, turning his pale face to meet Light's eye. The grin seemed a little wider than usual. "That's where we're headed, though I think it's a waste of time. I mean, it seems like everybody here just leaves theirs around wherever they like. It's easier just to steal one."

"So how long will it take for me to become a Shinigami?"

"Well, you're technically one now, but what's a Death God without a Death Note?"

Light didn't respond, emotions of triumph and glee rose inside of him. He was about to be reunited with the Death Note. He already felt the smile forming on his face. Kira had not lost after all. Ryuk had actually broke his vow of not getting involved and helped him. Light now had the eyes, not to mention the added bonus of extending his own lifespan every time he passed judgment. Light was practically beaming, for once not caring who saw him. The benefits were overwhelming, and he almost had the urge to hug Ryuk. _Almost_. The weight of the world was off his shoulders, and he found he was able to breathe easier.

"There is one catch though." The Death God's statement cut through Light's reverie of joy like a guillotine. The weight was back on his shoulders, and he scowled. Ryuk cocked his head. "Come on, you had to know that there was some sort of price." Light glared at him. Yes, he knew that it was too good to be true, but he was still crestfallen.

"What is this 'catch'?" Light asked, not even bothering to filter the acid in his voice. Even when he was alive, Ryuk was the only one he hadn't needed to pretend around. The Shinigami had been merely a spectator and now was no exception. Light wanted Ryuk to know the full extent of his displeasure.

"The more you use the Death Note as a Shinigami, the more your body transforms," Ryuk chuckled darkly. "Your body can't survive in human form in this realm along with eating another lifespan. It's sort of a system of checks and balances, a way to keep a big-headed Shinigami from killing off the entire human race." Light looked down at his hands. He'd always been good looking. The fact so many people were swayed by a pretty face had taken him far, and gotten him what he wanted. He wasn't sure if he was willing to give that up for the sake of Kira. His scrutinizing brown eyes studied Ryuk: the thin gangly body, the shock of black hair on top of the Shinigami's large pale head. Light didn't want to be that. Just the thought of having that many teeth made the inside of his mouth hurt.

"Surely that hasn't stopped every Shinigami?" Light questioned. Even though the Death Note might have taken looks, Light was well aware that not everybody cared as much as he did about appearance. One person in particular came to mind, but he stomped on the image like a disgusting spider. That person was long dead and dead he'd stay.

"Always spotting loopholes, but you're right that hasn't stopped every Shinigami," Ryuk confirmed. "Ever heard of the Black Plague?"

"That was a Shinigami?"

"Yeah," Ryuk said, then seemed to grin even wider than usual as he added, "he reminded me of you."

"What happened to him?" Light ignored the barb, knowing that giving a retort to Ryuk was like giving one to a brick wall, pointless.

"His body got so disfigured that he couldn't write anymore and died. Thankfully it was during the Middle Ages when you humans didn't live very long or we'd be stuck with him for millenniums instead of centuries."

"That doesn't make sense though," Light argued. "Shinigami have to write names to stay alive. If using the Death Note will disfigure them to the point where they can no longer write a name how do you live for as long as you do?"

"Take lifespan as food," Ryuk explained. "Humans need food to survive, however, if you eat too much at one time you can get sick, or gain weight to the point where you're way too disfigured to function."

"So lifespan is the same way," Light figured. "If I absorb more than my body can take in at one time that's what would make me disfigured." That craving for water was getting stronger the more he thought, but he pushed to the back of his mind. He could wait. Light first wanted to obtain his Death Note before starting to explore the wasteland.

"That's right. Limiting the amount of lifespan we take is a way of keeping humans plentiful. Think about it, if Shinigami were allowed to write names without limit there'd be no humans left, and we'd die out as well."

"That makes sense," Light kept a steady gaze on Ryuk, his mind absorbing the information. He had no idea about the limits of writing names, but he was learning fast. It seemed that being on the Death God's side would prove to be a bit more difficult than on the human's. "So as long as I write in moderation, my disfigurement should be limited."

"That's sort of true. You'll still transform simply because a human body isn't meant to take lifespan, but in a way you're right, if you write in moderation and live out some of the lifespan you absorb, then your transformation should be limited," Ryuk's clawed hand reached towards a wilting tree they were passing, and plucked an apple from the dry branches. "The older you get the more lifespan your body can absorb without transforming more than it should."

"So how long can I last without writing a name?" At this Ryuk cackled, the movements making the chain attached to his hip jingle. He tossed the apple over his shoulder, and Light instinctively caught it. The skin was withered and rough against his palms. Light's nose wrinkled with disgust. No wonder Ryuk craved apples from the human world. The thing looked not only rotten, but almost like a dead animal.

"I never thought I'd here you say that." The large yellow eyes were wide with expressiveness and sick amusement. "You're a newborn so only about a few weeks. You remember how lifespan works right?"

"Yes, if I kill a thirty year old that's meant to die when he's ninety I'll add sixty years to my own." Light let the apple fall and hit the sand below with a thud.

"True for an older Shinigami, but for a newborn, you should start out killing humans with only a few months left on their lifespan. It gives your body a chance to adjust to its new 'diet.'" At this point Light was fuming. There were way too many limits that put his goal of continuing Kira's reign out of reach.

There was no way he'd end up like the Shinigami apparently responsible for the Black Plague. Light was smarter than to abuse his body to the point where he was too disfigured to even move. His mind churned with possible solutions. He was a newborn Shinigami that had to start small, and though Light was patient, he wasn't patient enough to wait hundreds of years for his body to adjust enough to absorb the endless amounts of lifespan he'd take writing the names of the millions of criminals in the world. There had to be another way.

"Here we are," Ryuk announced, oblivious to Light's inner turmoil. He stopped before a wide cave, it's opening a yawning black abyss. Light could see a few orange flickers of fire from the various groups of Shinigami sitting inside. The cave was surrounded by the ruins of what appeared to be castle-like structures. The rugged bricks stuck out of the sand like tombstones, while the remains of archways seemed seconds away from crumbling into the very sand they stood upon.

"The King is in here?" Light asked. Another breeze swept his auburn hair across his forehead, and he felt his muscles stiffen against the bite of the chill.

"Yup, he hates the wind almost as much as you do." Ryuk started forward, and the blackness swallowed him briefly before Light slogged through the sand after him. The glow from the group fires was the only light provided as he hurried after the retreating Death God.

It was even cooler in the cave then it was outside, but the lack of wind made it slightly more bearable. Light let his eyes scan the walls, up to the stalactites clinging to the ceiling. Strangely enough, there was no water dripping down, as he had come to associate with caves. The air inside was completely dry, lacking any hint of moisture. Caves were formed from water. How could there not be any here? Light was unnerved that it made no sense. He calmed himself with a deep breath, remembering that he was in another realm now, and that the rules of the human world didn't necessarily apply.

The other Shinigami stared at him with their large unyielding eyes, and though Light was the prince of keeping his cool, he couldn't help but feel threatened. A few Death Gods pulled their lips back in disgust, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. They acted as if they smelled something foul. Light was always hygienic, keeping his body perfectly clean, but something told him that these creatures were so used to thier own rotting stench, that any other scent repulsed them. The fires cast strange shadows across their disfigured faces, making some appear larger and much more frightening. Light instinctively kept only a few short paces behind Ryuk, though he knew that the Shinigami offered as much protection as a squirt gun.

The tried to ignore the snide comments he was getting by concentrating on Ryuk's large black wings. He remembered when he first found the Death Note, and the Death God offered him the eyes. He had denied, but teased Ryuk about offering wings instead. Light always had a mild fascination with wings. It was never an obsession or anything that really crossed his mind often, but now that he thought of it, it was definitely one of the perks of becoming a Death God.

"He looks like a pretty boy," a smug voice stated from his right.

"Can't wait to see what he looks like when he starts writing names," a snicker answered. Light's back was rigid as he followed Ryuk. He was insulted, but kept his mouth shut. There was no point, he kept telling himself.

"But Ryuk is with him so then he's Kira," another more feminine voice stated over the crackling of the many fires. Luckily, all the groups seemed to stay away from the center of the cave, instead keeping close to the walls. That was good. Light didn't want to be anywhere near them.

"That's Kira?" another asked. There was a rush of whispers down the cave at this, the entire hostile mood changing to one of curiosity and wonderment. Though the echoes of the yawning cavern made it impossible to distinguish individual conversations, he was able to pick up snippets from the closer groups.

"I imagined him older."

"I thought he'd be more intimidating."

"Who cares? Kira is here."

"He's going to be one of us."

"He can save our world." Light kept his gaze locked on Ryuk, determined not to let any of the monsters see the true anxiety in his eyes. Save their world? They must have been desperate, and Light didn't blame them. From the look of their realm, they needed something. Still, how could he do that when Ryuk said himself newborns had to absorb only minuscule amounts of lifespan. He surely wasn't going to commit genocide anytime soon.

A few moments later, Light was looking up at what had to be the most hideous creature in existence. It sat upon a throne of human bones, one claw-like finger circling sickeningly inside the eye socket of a brown skull perched on the armrest. The King was a fat blackish blob festering upon the skeletons of countless humans. His stumpy legs hung over the rim of his throne, red soulless eyes bearing down on the human before him. A large pit of fire separated the King from the rest, the embers revealing blemished hide.

Light was sickened at the sight, but the smell was even worse. It was a mix of rotten eggs and burning flesh, the auburn-haired man had to swallow roughly to keep from vomiting. Ryuk seemed undisturbed and floated serenely as ever.

"I brought Kira," he spoke. "All he needs is his Death Note, and he'll be ready to start."

The King's large mouth made a small rumbling sound, his crimson eyes staring unblinkingly down at Light through the flames. Ryuk might as well have been a formation in the cave for all the attention The King gave him.

"So you are Kira?" The King's voice sounded like a deep baritone coupled with grinding pebbles. It was almost enough to give Light a headache on the spot. At first Light wasn't sure how he should respond. Ryuk hadn't used any honorifics or 'your majesties' when he spoke, but then again, Light never saw Ryuk as the proper gentleman. He settled on following Ryuk's example.

"Yes." The King continued to stare, as if considering if such a small human was really responsible for the deaths of thousands.

"I assume he's informed you of the rules?"

"Yes."

"Ryuk seems to think that you might be the one to get us out of this recession," the creature before him informed. Light let the surprise show in his face, as he turned towards the Shinigami. Light never thought that the Death God had that kind of faith in him. Light had always been a source of amusement for Ryuk, nothing more. Now he thought Light had the power to single-handedly bring back the dying Shinigami Realm? Light felt his surprised look turn almost expectant for the reaper's denial or confirmation, but Ryuk kept his yellow gaze on The King, not even glancing at him. Light had to keep himself from scoffing. He should have figured it was the Shinigami's style to be just plain unhelpful. So Light took the initiative.

"He did? Well, apparently I'm only a newborn. I'm not sure how I can help."

"It doesn't matter. You will mature and when that time comes, your presence here should inspire more Shinigami to write. You are quite the celebrity in this realm, Kira." Despite the circumstances, Light felt his ego boost about ten notches. He really couldn't help it, it was his nature to absorb compliments like a sponge. Not only was he famous to humans, but also to his fellow Shinigami. The King continued.

"I believe he is right. You might have noticed the decay of our realm, the lazy creatures that dare call themselves Shinigami, but just the fact that you exist was enough to inspire them to have pride. They look up to you, Kira." Lights excitement rose. They really looked up to him? Even Shinigami thought he was an idol. The idea of ruling over the Death Gods was intoxicating. He'd be King of the Shinigami, therefore, he'd rule death and pass judgment for all eternity. These were desperate creatures that were dying out, and that made them seem far less threatening.

"So which Death Note is he getting?" Ryuk asked. Light let his brows furrow together, still unsure why his black-clad companion never used an honorific. The King didn't seem bothered by it though, and Light figured it wasn't really a necessity. Still, if he were King he'd expect some form of respect.

"The Death Note of the Shinigami he killed," The King answered, finally taking his heavy red stare off Light, and shifting it to Ryuk.

The Shinigami he had killed? Rem came to mind yet again. He smirked to himself, as he took a sidelong look at a nearby group of Shinigami. All of them were rigid as they sat around their dying fire. There were no more whispers or rude remarks, every burning eye was on him, their idol.

It was strangely fitting to have Rem's notebook. Light remembered how easy it was to manipulate her into doing his bidding. Her love for Misa made her the perfect pawn, and she had died killing his worst enemy to protect the sugary blond model. Rem had loved Misa, but he was sure Rem knew that Misa would never love her back. Misa was no more than a child. Her obsession and 'undying love' for Light had to have made that even more obvious. You didn't get any more stupid than that. What a fool she had been. People like that made him sick. He'd never be so stupid.

The thirst for water crept up on him again, almost as if chastising him on his inner remarks. He grit his teeth and ignored it, his hands itching to hold the little notebook that had so much power.

"Sampa, bring Kira his Death Note," The King turned his jelly-like head to the side. Light wondered briefly if he ever got out of his throne, but looking at the stubby excuses for legs and the fact he was surrounded by a mote of fire gave him his answer.

Another Shinigami glided over on brown leathery wings. The rotted skull of what appeared to be a horse rested over the reaper's face. It was a bit smaller than Ryuk, and far thinner. In its hands was the very Death Note Light had claimed after Rem's death. His whole body yearned for it, even through his suppressed craving for water. The King's terrible voice resounded, though Light kept his brown eyes fixed on the notebook.

"You may not have directly killed Rem, but you did set up her downfall knowing she'd play into it." The Shinigami named Sampa let its feet touch the bone littered ground. Light wasn't sure if it was male or female, but when it spoke, the voice that came from behind the horse skull was deep and growling.

"Here you are, Kira," Sampa said, holding out the Death Note. Light reached out and let his fingers brush the black binding. A shot of power flowed through him, and he felt his mouth curl into a grin. "You will save us from extinction."

Light felt all eyes on him, the many Shinigami that littered the cave tensed with anticipation as he gripped the notebook. Taking it from Sampa, his brown eyes widened along with his grin. Kira was back, and there was nothing to stop him now: no L, no Near, and no silly task force. He was a God of Death, and he knew exactly how to continue Kira's reign.

"I know you will make a fine Shinigami," The King seemed pleased despite his lack of facial expression. "Much more competent than that notebook's previous owners." Light only had eyes for the notebook in his hands, his fingers gripping the cover, slightly trembling as new power flowed through him.

"It's Kira." They said his name over and over. He'd be the God of both worlds, human and Shinigami. Light felt a bubble of mad laughter build up inside of him. It was the same laughter that he unleashed when Near uncovered who he was in the warehouse, before that bastard Matsuda pulled the trigger to his cursed gun. They thought Kira was dead. Well, he certainly wasn't now. He clutched the Death Note to his chest hungrily.

He knew how to continue Kira's reign, he'd drop another Death God's notebook in the human world, and use whoever picked it up as a pawn. His smile was huge by now, the laughter escaping him in short chuckles. They'd pay. Oh yes, they'd all pay for giving Kira a humiliating end. Soon the laughter was too much, and he threw his head back. His wide stare now glowed red with the eyes of a Shinigami, piercing the high ceiling of the cave.

The other Shinigami voiced their approval, some joining his mad laughter. He stopped after a few seconds, then looked down at the book, grin still plastered to his face. Time to get another Death Note, and with such loyal subjects that would not prove difficult.

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I hope you liked it. Again, if anyone wants to beta me I will love you forever. Things should pick up rather quickly the next chapter so I hope this one wasn't too boring. So here's the prolouge thanks for getting this far.


	2. Interferece Acceptable By Death

**UPDATE 1/17/08: **_This chapter has been read through again and edits have been made, enjoy and let me know what you think. _

Hey guys, thanks a lot for the 13 reviews I know the first chapter wasn't that great. T-T This one is pretty much more explanation, though things start to pick up the next chapter. I promise! I don't want to spoil anything.

**Thanks to Amanda Saitou and luckystars123 for betaing! Both tore my grammar to shreds and built it back up so it was readable. Huggles to both of them they rock. **

So I hope I did okay. Let me know what you think. I swear after this chapter, things get better, just have to get through explanations and whatnot. I miss my Naruto fanfics, Death Note is still so new to me. AH!

**I don't own Death Note. **

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Light dropped the Death Note in the yard of the Hawley-Smoot Homeless Shelter. The Shinigami remembered the history classes he had breezed through another lifetime ago, and found it humorous that the shelter happened to have the same name as a tariff America had put on foreign goods just before the Great Depression. The newborn wondered briefly if it was some kind of joke on the founder's part, possibly implying that, like the Great Depression, being homeless was caused by a chain of events that started with a stupid decision.

Dear God, he was bored out of his mind waiting for someone to pick up the Death Note. It even had him thinking of American history of all things. _It's not like I have anything better to do, _he complained inwardly. _Might as well follow this useless train of thought wherever it goes. _

Light was well aware that America's economy at the time was already in a slum, and the tariff was a desperate act to encourage people to buy American goods. Still, if the political leaders simply thought ahead a few steps at how the foreign countries would react, then they'd have realized the costs outweighed the benefits. **_Wow_**, he was letting his mind wander. This kind of musing really was useless. Light decided not to hold it against himself since all he was really able to do at the moment was wait.

Becoming homeless, he assumed, started with a decision that hadn't been thought through completely. Whether it was deciding to drink, do drugs, or just be plain lazy, like the tariff, these decisions that were meant to solve a greater problem ended up being another contributor to failure. Looking at the few families spaced out at the many picnic tables, Light compared the parents to the Hoover administration, and the children to the American people. They blindly followed their parents, who were leading them deeper into an inescapable pit. Really, it was sad he got that subtle joke.

Light's slim figure crouched on the thick branches of a towering tree as his red eyes scanned the names of the various mental cases and down-on-their-luck tramps wandering the emerald lawn. A warm breeze ruffled his caramel-colored hair, and he sighed. Light had almost forgotten how nice the wind felt in the human world. It was soothing against his cold skin, so unlike the biting chill of the Shinigami World.

It was almost pitiful how desperate the Death Gods were for a savior. During the mandatory 45 days he was forced to stay in the Shinigami Realm, he doubted he was given a second's worth of privacy. At first it was flattering, but after having that selective group of reapers following him around like a pack of lost puppies, he was more than ready to set his plan into motion.

Getting another Death Note was the easiest part. His smile was one of pure smugness as he recalled how at least ten Death Notes were held out to him eagerly. Apparently the Shinigami had no issues with sacrificing their lives to save their world. In the end, he chose the plainest and most inconspicuous. The black cover was worn with no title. Each page inside looked like innocent line paper. Anyone that picked it up would simply think that it was a regular notebook, especially since Light decided not to write the rules.

It was better that whoever picked it up be completely in the dark. Unlike Ryuk, Light was not simply a spectator. He was the puppeteer, silently manipulating from the shadows. The human who picked up this Death Note was destined to be Kira's eyes and ears. What better place to find that said puppet than a place were the burdens of society festered? The homeless nobodies were the perfect target, so uneducated and easily controlled. Any number of them here would do, not to mention that a high percentage suffered from at least one mental condition or addiction.

"Ryuk!" Light hissed as twigs snapped from above and lodged in his hair. He let an irritated hand run through his locks, removing all the tiny branches.

"What?" an apathetic voice groaned.

"Will you stop crawling around like a monkey and be quiet?" He heard the harsh crunching of teeth breaking through something solid. Why he chose to wait in an apple tree was beyond him. A few moments later, Ryuk's upside-down head appeared from the canopy, a rosy apple impaled between his sharp teeth, the juice dribbling down the corners of his mouth. Light frowned, his face settling into a scowl. Ryuk tossed his head back, the apple disappearing inside his grinning mouth in seconds. It vaguely reminded Light of how the meat-eating dinosaurs ate their prey in the movies.

"I'm bored," he complained, one claw picking the leftover skin from between his teeth. "We've been sitting here for hours."

"You're the one that wanted to come along," Light pointed out.

"That's because I thought you were going to be more interesting," the Shinigami growled, lazily floating down from his original perch to hover in front of the newborn. "I have to admit that it was pretty smart to think of using homeless people. If one gets killed from your crazy plan, no one will miss them, and I'm sure at least one is dying for a God complex. Still, not writing the rules is unusual."

"It's better that they don't know everything. That way they'll have to rely on me," Light explained. "And homeless people are often uneducated and can usually be controlled with addictions and mental conditions. I'm hoping for someone with schizophrenia, that way if they get caught, the authorities will assume that they're just another lunatic, rather than the next Kira. Also, people with schizophrenia tend to make up events in their heads and think that they're true. If they confess, then the authorities have no choice but to chalk it up as a possible symptom. Since there's no L, I doubt they'll look into a confession of a mentally ill hobo. "

"So you plan to make them confess?"

"Only if the police get any hard leads, which is doubtful," Light shrugged. "Like I said, there's no L to really look into anything, and Near only found out because of Mikami and Mello. I don't need to remind you that they're now dead, and rightfully so."

"What if someone smart does pick it up?"

"Then we'll have a fun game. Besides, who can argue with a God of Death when one asks you to do something?"

"But what happens if a drunk picks it up? If he doesn't listen to you, sure, you can threaten to kill him, but you and I both know that your body can't handle more than a few months of lifespan."

"If he's too incompetent to do as I ask, all I have to do is convince him when intoxicated to wander around in traffic," Light chuckled. Ryuk remained silent, his unblinking eyes fixed on the other Shinigami. "Don't worry," Light reassured. "I've got this all figured out. There won't be another Mikami."

"So we've learned our lesson about overestimating people?"

"Overestimating is an understatement," Light recalled bitterly. "No, I plan to involve as few people as possible. The very most is two. Still, I won't have to worry if they get found out. I mean, they can't put a Death God to death, right?"

"What if one of the kids picks it up?" Ryuk asked, gesturing to the multiple families sitting together, enjoying their afternoon lunch of soup that the shelter gave away for free. Light grinned.

"Then I'd be in luck. A child is definitely easy to manipulate, all you have to do is know how." He thought briefly of his sister. He had cared about her in his own detached way, but she was nowhere near the genius he was. Like the rest of his family, fooling her and controlling her when needed was no strain on his part.

Ryuk stared at him. The Death God seemed to be condescending the younger reaper, and it pissed him off.

"What?" Light snapped. The other Shinigami made no reply, and with one flap of his wings, he was back at the top of the tree, undoubtedly stuffing his face with more apples. Light grunted in annoyance and looked down at the prize.

There the Death Note lay at the trunk of the tree, waiting for its new owner. So far, nobody noticed the little black notebook, but Light wasn't impatient. He'd get his puppet soon enough. In the mean time, he let his forehead rest on his knees, his fingers fiddling with the tiny silver cross around his neck. He remembered finding it in the sand during the first few days in the Shinigami Realm. The thin delicate chain had glinted, despite the lack of sunlight, drawing his attention. He wasn't sure why he put it around his neck, but it was something to play with when he was bored or thinking.

The warm breeze pushed the black cloth of his shirt into his well-muscled figure. Light admitted to himself that he missed the human world. Foods were so much better, not to mention delicious. He swallowed, suddenly craving a cupcake chased down by glass of cool water. He never cared for sweets when he was alive, but after curbing hunger pains with food that might as well have been sand, he came to appreciate them more. The water was something Light had been denied since becoming a Shinigami. It just wasn't right for a reaper to get hungry or thirsty, but he assumed it was another downside meant to be an annoyance rather than a necessity.

"Hey, Light," Ryuk's deep voice seemed more amused than it should, and coupled with he crunching of apples, it was a step above irritating. Light let out a harsh sigh.

"What?"

"Look who's going to be your human." Ryuk suddenly began to cackle cruelly, causing Light to tighten the grip on his pants. That laugh was rotten. It was the same one that escaped Ryuk's ever-smiling mouth when the reaper wrote his name. Light had bled and screamed on the floor. Though he tried to suppress it, he remembered the cold dark warehouse, and the bullets ripping through his body. Matsuda's enraged shouts rang in his head as the young detective pulled the trigger. Over and over, lead pierced his flesh. It was a terrible pain like no other. Then, the feeling of his heart exploding inside his chest cavity added to the crushing pain.

If there was one thing that Light had taken from his past life, it was that he hated guns. They were the worst weapon invented, and one of the few things that made him uneasy. Light blinked away the traumatizing image, and lethargically lifted his head from his knees, expecting a flea-bitten old man with a beer bottle, but what he saw was much worse.

"No way!" He shouted, almost toppling backwards of his branch. Light managed to regain his balance, but barely. He stood, hitting his head on an overhanging branch, muscles rigid as he looked down in horror. Shinigami weren't supposed to have blood or hearts, but Light felt something that could only be described as his heart stopping, and blood freezing cold. It was as if an elephant had stepped on his chest, and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. His body began to shiver involuntarily against the unbearable pressure that Light recognized as fear. Out of all the people that might have picked up the book, there was no way this person could be alive let alone…

"Huh?" Ryuk turned his head, noticing Light's frozen expression. "Light, are you okay?" Light only had eyes for the person meandering over to the tree, pale hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, his posture horrendous as ever, and messy black hair billowing gently in the breeze. Something about him was different though. He looked absolutely exhausted, and somehow seemed thinner than when Light last saw him. There was no mistake though, nobody in the world had another face like his.

"Th..That's impossible," Light gasped. Ryuk looked down from the bright green foliage, his facial expression showed he was confused at how such an odd looking man brought a reaction out of the ordinarily arrogant Light.

"What's wrong? A few minutes ago you were sitting on that branch like you were king of the world." Suddenly, Light ripped his own Death Note from the holster on his leg, and began frantically flipping through the pages.

"There's no way," Light murmured to himself, ceasing his desperate page skimming, and running his finger down the paper.

"What?" Ryuk asked curiously, twisting his gangly body so that his large eyes peered over the smaller Death God's shoulder. Light's finger was poised next to the name _L Lawliet_, written right under the name _Quillish Wammy_. Light tore his gaze away from the name, down at the walking corpse. Over the man's head was the name, L Lawliet, floating like a mocking beacon.

"His name is in the Death Note," Light said. "I…Rem…I killed him. Why is he alive?"

Light continued to stare in horror as L stopped before the notebook, and crouched down, teeth chewing relentlessly on his thumb. His black eyes were on the Death Note, his head cocked slightly in mild fascination.

_Don't pick it up. Don't pick it up, _Light begged silently, but he knew it was a futile hope. L reached out a pale hand and grasped the notebook between thumb and forefinger. Light felt a jolt shoot through his body, as the Death Note bonded with the unknowing L. Light froze, knowing he was able to be seen.

"Oh, I get it," Ryuk stated loudly. Light glanced at him sharply, eyes narrowed. "That's L. He looks like he's about to pass out. Huh, well what do you know? Rem decided to give you one last kick in the balls." Light bristled but didn't respond, L being too close. Light watched as the detective brought the little notebook to his knees and opened it, dark eyes scanning the empty pages.

What was L doing at a homeless shelter? How was alive? Light watched him die. He had been holding L when he had closed those horrible owlish eyes. He'd been to the funeral, he watched them put the detective into the ground. His grave had been marked with a stone cross, no name or date. Light had laughed and proclaimed victory, yelling into the freshly dug earth that he had won.

But he hadn't won at all. L was still alive. The detective stood up, closing the notebook. Maybe he planned to put it down, though that seemed unlikely. Light exhaled sharply, too sharply, and that slight sound caused L to jerk his head upwards. Light grit his teeth as the man's dark eyes squinted against the sunlight, searching the tangled branches for the source of the sound. Light remained absolutely still, knowing that if he so much as twitched a finger, the movement would draw L's attention right to him. Having L see him now was almost too horrible to imagine.

The detective took a cautious step closer to the trunk of the tree, his upturned face displaying a look of curiosity mixed with hesitation. Light thought briefly of killing him, picking up his Death Note and writing that accursed name again. Light's red eyes read the lifespan floating under the name. He was in luck, L only had six months to live. He was sure his body could handle that, and the fact it was L's lifespan he'd be absorbing was even more enticing.

"Hello?" L called out. "Is anybody up there?" That stopped Light's train of thought like a pile of concrete bricks. L was still staring intently at the large tree, Light thankful that he had chosen to perch on one of the highest boughs. It was an intense moment, and even Ryuk had quieted his relentless apple-munching, full attention on the two enemies.

Light nearly jumped as a tiny brown squirrel flung itself from the topmost branch, flailing through Light's head as if he were a ghost, and landing on the trunk right into L's line of sight.

The detective blinked momentarily at the furry animal, before the squirrel scurried down the remainder of the tree, and sprinted across the spacious lawn, into the bushes growing against the wooden fences. L seemed satisfied that the squirrel had been the source of the commotion and turned away, tucking the Death Note underneath his arm and making his way back to the large building further away.

Light let out a sigh of utter relief. L almost spotted him, and he sent silent thanks to the squirrel.

"She wrote his name twice," Ryuk explained, returning to his apples. Light glanced at Ryuk after watching L's retreating figure enter the building.

"What?" Light looked back down at his open Death Note.

"Like I said, she wrote his name twice," The older Shinigami repeated. Light continued to flip through the pages, stopping when he came to the back. The handwriting was scrawled and hurried. Light figured that Rem must have been close to death when she wrote it.

_**L Lawliet, dies Nov. 28, 2010. 9:30 pm. Brutally bludgeoned and stabbed by thugs. IABD**_

Light read the words over twice. What did this mean? L was going to be murdered in six months, but why had Rem spared him until now? More importantly, what did this IABD mean? It was written much steadier, as if Rem had forced herself to stay calm in her last moments. A few symbols were scribbled around it, but Light wasn't sure what they meant. It didn't look like any language he had seen before.

"Looks like she wanted to give you a chance to redeem yourself," Ryuk laughed, ripping a chunk out of another apple.

"What do you mean?" Light frowned, watching as the piece of fruit was crushed into a pulp by Ryuk's sharp teeth.

"IABD is a seal that means Interference Acceptable By Death. The King made it to deal with Shinigami who fell in love with humans."

"Really, and why would he do that?" Light asked skeptically.

"Before humans stopped believing in us, Shinigami falling in love was starting to become a problem, so The King created the IABD seal. Basically, he'd write the human's name in his Death Note with a cause of death that could be prevented. "

"Like murder?" Light questioned.

"Yup." Ryuk threw back his head devouring the apple's core before continuing. "And the Shinigami in question would have the choice to interfere and save the human's life at the cost of their own, or watch the one they loved die. Most chose to watch and that broke them of the habit."

"What do these hieroglyphics mean?" Light pointed to the odd symbols. As hurried and scribbled as they were, they still had a certain grace about them.

"Ah, that's the language of heaven," Ryuk explained. "Not quite sure what it means though. A really long time ago, Shinigami used to be taught that as soon as they were born, but things have changed. It's kind of like Latin to humans. A dead language." Light turned away, staring at Rem's dying message.

"Language of heaven," Light mused. "I thought you said there was no heaven."

"Only for people who deserve it." Light decided to drop the subject, and focus on the subject of his true interest.

"So this was kind of an ultimatum for lovesick Death Gods?"

"Uh huh, but he's gone lax with it over the centuries since the population is so low. Back in the day though, if Shinigami were discovered to have feelings for a human, there were serious consequences. Shinigami aren't meant to love humans. It's unnatural. Besides, love is a human thing. We aren't meant to be human. Humans are what we kill so we can survive."

"But during my experiments, if the cause of death could not be done then the person would die of a heart attack. It shouldn't have made any difference," Light countered.

"That's where the seal comes in. One life in exchange for another. The seal insures that if the Shinigami interfered, then the human's lifespan would resume naturally." Ryuk paused. "The King taught the seal to only a small group of Shinigami that were close to him. I knew Rem was older than me, but she must have been high ranking back when the Shinigami Realm had order." Light caught the subtle hint of awe in his voice, but decided not to pursue it. Pestering Ryuk would get him nowhere.

"But if falling in love was so bad, why did they let the human live?" Ryuk blinked.

"You need to know every detail don't you?"

"Hey, I'm just calling inconsistencies as I see them."

"Well," Ryuk began. "If the human they loved died no matter what they did, then there'd be no incentive." Light put the rest together.

"And if a Shinigami's love was so strong that they'd be willing to die for a human, they didn't deserve to be a Shinigami, and therefore it's also a way to weed out the weak."

"You got it."

"Great," Light sighed. "Really though, who did Rem take me for? I mean it's L. She knew exactly what I thought about him."

"Doesn't have to be love," Ryuk said. " Could be friendship too. Or just human decency, both of which you lack. Point is, you protect a human, you die, simple and clean."

"Well, we both know that wont be happening anytime soon," Light waved a hand, rolling his eyes. "Still, how did she know that I'd drop my Death Note here, L would be here, or that I'd even become a Shinigami?"

"Don't ask me," Ryuk responded. "Guess she just knew, or she was going on blind faith." That didn't sound like Rem. Light pondered it for a moment, but his thoughts turned up blank. There was no way that Rem could have known he'd see L again, and there was no way Light would die to save him, fancy seal or not. Unless she was able to see into the future, this had to be some sort of coincidence. Light decided that it was best to find out later. Something about this didn't smell right, but for now he'd play dumb until he gathered more information.

"Well, now that we got the seal down, what does writing his name twice change? You know, other than the fact that he's alive."

"Not really sure, other than it resets him, so to speak."

" Resets?"

"Okay, let me think on how to explain this," Ryuk let a sharp claw scratch his chin, undoubtedly wracking his brain for an easy way to interpret his thoughts. "Well, this realm is like an animated feature. Each movement humans make here is a single picture out of millions. In a way, your friend there is like an extra picture that was drawn on last minute. He's not supposed to be there, but his existence doesn't really change much about the animation. You might call him a background character, meant to take up space more than anything."

"So you're saying he's insignificant, like an optional picture?"

"Basically he's an added factor in this realm that will effect nothing."

"He picked up a Death Note, though," Light stated.

"Then I guess he's not so insignificant anymore," Ryuk replied, his tone going flat as he rapidly lost interest in the current topic.

"So what is he doing at a homeless shelter?"

"I don't know," Ryuk let his back rest against the trunk of the tree. "I never wrote a human's name that I didn't plan to kill for good, so I'm not sure what dying once does to humans."

"But how could anyone not notice a dead man walking?"

"He's reset, meaning he's in a totally new body. His original body is still buried, it's just that, to put it literally, his soul spontaneously appeared in a new body just like the first."

"So there are two L bodies," Light figured. "A dead one, and then this one. But one L soul-wise." He smiled to himself. "Should turn out to be very interesting. I wonder what he'll think when he sees me again. Tricky bastard."

"You have forty-five days before you need to meet him," Ryuk reminded.

"Oh, I won't need that long." With that, two large feathery black wings sprouted from Light's back, and he launched himself off the tree. Once he rose high enough, he let himself glide in a large circle around the shelter.

Ryuk watched him from the tree, one apple clutched in his hand. Light was just a black speck in the sky, almost making Ryuk believe he was watching a hungry vulture rather than a fellow Shinigami. It was interesting to watch Light now. Ryuk was sure that dying would have humbled him more, but it seemed to do the exact opposite. If anything, it gave Light the false pretense he was invincible. Ryuk took another bite out of his twelfth apple, savoring the sweet juice that trickled down his parched throat. Well, Yagami would find out soon enough. Not even Ryuk denied how smart he was.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx

L entered the building through the glass door that led to the lounge of Hawley-Smoot. He was tired, bitter and nowhere near remembering who he was. Today especially had drained every ounce of energy he'd gotten from his meager four hours of sleep the night before. Someone had the bright idea to let their child smear ice cream all over the mirrors in the women's restroom. L was quickly losing hope in the human race, but at least his boss let him off early.

Every day was exactly the same: go to work, eat, and if he was lucky, sleep. His mind was usually what kept him awake into the early hours of morning. It was always screaming for a challenge, a puzzle, and more importantly, the rest of his life. Even when he was exhausted, he longed for something to break the cycle that he was trapped in.

L wasn't entirely sure why he picked up the notebook, but one thing was for sure, it was something different in the ever-monotonous cycle he called a life. He'd just gotten back from work, when he noticed it falling from the sky. Of course, the fact that the notebook had fallen from the sky gave him reason enough to ignore it for a few hours. He may have been suffering from amnesia, but he wasn't crazy.

Looking around the cheaply decorated lounge, he found an empty plush chair in the far corner of the spacious room, and headed towards it. There were several prayer groups meeting around the few tables, and a family of four was resting on the large couch in the center. The kids were running around screaming, crying, and hitting, while the weary parents were passed out against each other's shoulders. The high-pitched squeals were grating his already frayed nerves, and L thought about heading up to his room, but decided against forcing himself to stare at the navy blue walls of his "home." That was basically what he had been reduced to, a social reject wall-gazer, boredom eating away at the little sanity he had left.

L seated himself on the chair in his usual crouch and sighed gently. His black eyes scanned the peeling white paint, while he absentmindedly picked at a few cigarette burns on the chair's fabric. The prayer groups were standing in their little circle speaking rather loudly to the ceiling, some actually crying. It was that kind of behavior that kept him away from organized religion. It was no wonder they ended up in a homeless shelter if they relied on an entity for everything. Still they were lucky. At least every one of them knew who they were. At least they had a childhood to speak of. L didn't remember anything.

The earliest memory he had was waking up in a graveyard, body splayed out like a murder victim. That was nearly five years ago, and he still hadn't regained even the smallest memory of what happened. L didn't know why he had been in a graveyard, or who put him there. All he remembered was regaining consciousness, and then turning over to face the nameless cross towering over him. It was frustrating not knowing who he was, and even more so that he was living in a homeless shelter working as a janitor in a convenience store.

He didn't even know his own name. He frowned again, looking at the black notebook now in his hands. The ever-growing frustration was raging inside of him. L knew he was incredibly intelligent, he had read every book Hawley-Smoot had in its confines. However, not having the proper paperwork, or any school education to speak of made it difficult to have an intriguing career. So he was stuck every night from eight o'clock to midnight, waxing tiles and cleaning piss and shit from the bathrooms. Not only was it disgusting, it was an insult to his brain power.

Eyes still on the book, he let his thumbnail venture between his teeth where he began to chew. He was absolutely spent, and now he was seeing notebooks fall from the sky. It didn't look like anything special- just a notebook. It didn't even have anything written inside. Though he swore he heard someone up in the tree as soon as he touched it.

He remembered looking up into the thick branches, and spotting a pair of red eyes gazing back at him. That was why he called out. At first he thought it was a trick of the light or the sun in his eyes, but after taking a step closer the eyes didn't vanish. In fact, they seemed to stare at him wide and unblinking. They glowed from the shadows of the leaves as they seemed to search him, but due to how high up they were, L hadn't been able to tell who they belonged to, or if they belonged to anyone at all.

L immediately shook the thought from his head. He was just tired, that was all. His oversized brain was starving for something worthwhile, and so it conjured up a pair of floating red eyes. The notebook wasn't anything abnormal or weird, it was just a notebook. Strangely enough, L felt his heart sink, and the annoying buzz he'd come to associate with his irrational side rang in his ears. Logic won over his longing for something different, and he let his dark-rimmed eyes close against the screaming children, and praying bible gangs. Too bad the best he could afford with his near nonexistent paycheck was a one-person room in a shelter named after a failed tariff.

He let his palm rest on his forehead, as if doing so might quiet his racing thoughts. L tried to think back longer than the five years allowed him. He tried this every night after he got home from work, but he'd always get lost in the mist that clouded his memory. His subconscious insisted that he simply appeared in the graveyard, relinquishing nothing of his life before. Waking up on top of that mound of dirt was as far back as he recalled.

No one was looking for him. He came to that conclusion long ago. His picture never appeared on television or on the daytime crime and detective shows. For the first year, he searched frantically around the missing persons boards in the grocery stores, and in various newspapers. Not knowing his own name made it impossible to search for records of himself online, and he eventually gave up, concluding that he most likely didn't have family or friends. The thought depressed him mildly, but from what he gathered about himself so far, was that he didn't like company and was a social recluse.

"Sam," A familiar voice stated just above him. He recognized the voice of Emma Snow, the kind old lady who volunteered at the shelter regularly. She affectionately began calling him "Sam" when she found out he didn't remember his own name. Thus the title stuck, and it was what everybody referred to him as. The name didn't bother him, but he felt no connection to it. It was just something to answer to rather than 'Hey, you!'

"Hello Mrs. Snow," L greeted, opening his eyes to stare at the gentle elderly woman. She was the stereotypical grandmother, with thick rimmed glasses, and a curly poof of white hair. In her wrinkled hands she held a plastic tin of cookies, no doubt for him. She'd taken a liking to him because she admired his quick wit, and she had sympathy for his plight. It border-lined pity, but not to the point that it repulsed him. Mrs. Snow was old after all, he figured it might be rude of him to reprimand her when she meant well. She did bring him sweets.

"I brought you these, Sam," she smiled, deepening the wrinkles on her face as she held out the cookies. Strangely enough, she reminded him of someone, but the face was blurry. This was mostly why he enjoyed her company. Her familiar face brought back the fuzzy picture of someone he cared for at one point.

"You are a life saver," L tried to smile for her sake, but failed. Instead, he took the cookies from her, and let his opaque orbs wander back to the prayer group. "I was afraid I'd be subjected to the slop they call food here."

"You know I think about you," she laughed. "You do remind me of my grandson, always eating sweets and nothing more. You're just so thin." There she went with the rant about his weight, but he forced himself to be patient. Mrs. Snow may have irritated him at times, but she was kind, and he did have a lot to thank her for. L let his black stare meet her eye, and observed how she gradually let her gaze wander away uncomfortably, breaking eye contact. One thing he found out about himself early on was that people tended to dislike eye contact with him. He found it fascinating.

"Don't worry about me," he sighed. "I'm healthy enough to function."

"I know," her white brows furrowed together. "It's just I worry about you, dear. You always have such large circles under your eyes, and you're so pale." There it was, that hint of something familiar. Someone had said that to him before. His mind drew that blurred face that he so longed to see.

"Thank you for the cookies," L decided to change the subject. The woman would go on and on if he didn't stop her, and wondering about who that person was only aggravated him. Taking the hint, she smiled again. Her eyes ventured to the notebook, before returning to L's face.

"Oh, that's a nice notebook. Do you plan on keeping a journal?" L momentarily lifted the book to his face before placing it back on the chair's armrest.

"Oh that," he began in his usual monotone. "I just found that today. I figured I'd keep it, but I hadn't really planned what to do with it."

"I think it'd be good for you to keep a journal," Mrs. Snow persisted. " I can tell you are much smarter than I could ever hope to be, and that you dumb down most of your sentences for my sake." L raised an eyebrow at this. The old woman was clearly much more perceptive than he gave her credit for.

"I don't know how it could, though I guess writing my thoughts down unabridged might be a soothing way to release tension." Mrs. Snow nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, it is a good way to let yourself unwind for awhile, believe me." She seemed so earnest, practically begging him to use it. L wasn't able to help himself, and he had to play with her a bit.

"Obdurate about this aren't we?" he said. "Still, I'm 79 percent sure that writing might not be as jejune as most people here seem to think." She continued to smile and nod, pretending to understand. L stared at her unsmiling, but he appreciated her effort to keep up. "Don't you think?"

"To tell you the truth, I only have a vague idea of what you just said," she chuckled gently. "You see, a journal you can write without worrying if others can understand you. It's completely your own."

"Hm," L pondered a moment. "I'll give it a try."

"That's good," Mrs. Snow nodded, before hobbling a few steps away on her cane. She seemed proud of herself for her supposed victory, despite the fact L hadn't put up much of a resistance to the idea. "Leaving so soon?" L asked.

"I can't chitchat forever," Mrs. Snow sighed. "There are people to feed."

"Good-bye," L waved, as she turned without another word. Her chipper mood seemed to falter as she headed towards the cafeteria. Emma Snow was far too old to be giving so much time to people who often didn't deserve it.

"Ouch!" The little boy shrieked as his sister slapped him hard in the face. The parents woke at his sobbing and began to scold their daughter exasperatingly. The little girl began to scream at the top of her lungs at the start of a tantrum.

L groaned and got up, holding the cookies and notebook. There was no way he'd get any peace here. There was only so much screaming he was willing to take. Luckily his room was a short distance away down the residential hall. L was one of the lucky ones that got a room of his own. He paid for it with his pathetic paycheck, and was given a bed to sleep in along with a phone so that his employer could contact him. All the freeloaders slept in the public room, which was usually crammed to the rim with drunks and druggies. L had little to do with them. He was not a freeloader, and had far too much pride to suck like a leech on the public's donations.

L reached his room, withdrew the keys from his jean pockets, and unlocked the white door that led to his one room apartment. It was tiny, and contained a lumpy cot, window, and an old wooden desk. A bookshelf that held the entire encyclopedia was pushed against the wall. It had a number of generic atlases, along with paperback mystery novels L had picked up with the few dollars he was able to scrounge from his rent money.

An oval shaped mirror hung on the wall, and though L never paid much attention to it, he caught his reflection and stared. His black hair was a mess, and the dark circles under his eyes had grown over the past week. For a moment, he studied the evidence of his exhaustion, but then let himself ponder his true features.

It was clear he was of some sort of European and Asian decent. His pale skin was smooth, and his eyes were large and deep-set. He was thin, almost emaciated if it weren't for his fuller face. No matter how much he ate he never gained weight, and looked to be in his late twenties, early thirties. Everything he ate other than sweets nearly made him gag. His habits were odd, but he had no idea were he picked them up. Who was he?

L dropped the notebook and cookies onto the desk, and then curled into his cot, blankets drawn over his head. With his knees to his chest he began to let his mind wander. L knew that his amnesia wasn't caused by head trauma. If he were bashed over the head, then he would have forgotten everything about life in general and not just his own. He could comprehend the future, which many other amnesia patients were unable to do, and found new things about himself. He found he was able to speak multiple languages and perform complicated math problems. It didn't take him long to figure out that he was a genius, or that he was different.

For the longest time, L thought. If head trauma wasn't the cause of his amnesia, then it was a psychological factor. Someone did something terrible to him, something so terrible that it made his own mind block it from him. When he first came to this conclusion he figured ignorance was bliss, but it had been five years now, and he was ready to know.

Again, he attempted to pierce through the fog, before he ended up in the graveyard. He tried to remember who put him there, but the fog only thickened. He also tried to remember faces, and the sounds of voices. He tried imagining where he had been before the graveyard.

His mind brought him back to the same memory, refusing to budge or let him pass. The graveyard memory infuriated him. It was the wall that kept him from knowing who he was. For a moment he considered giving up, but then the idea struck him. Maybe he was trying too hard to remember a specific event that didn't happen. L decided on a different approach, and instead of demanding which memory he wanted to see, he'd simply immerse himself in the fog, and wait for any memory that came to him.

It took two hours of gazing into whiteness before something flickered. L pushed into it, feeling his excitement rise. After five years, he was getting a something, a possible glimpse of his past life. It came to him in a blur. It was like looking at a smeared painting, but he could tell that three small people - most likely children- were sitting in front of him. He wasn't able to make out any distinguishing features, other than the smallest one had white hair, obviously an albino. The other two figures had blonde and red hair. That was all he could gather from the poor picture.

"_Wow, that's so cool." _One small voice stated. Yes, they were children.

"_Amazing that you were able to convict him with so little evidence." _This voice was younger, but sounded more composed and mature.

"_It was actually quite…." _His own voice trailed off, and the memory skittered away from him like a spooked animal, back into the protective confines of the mist.

L sat up in shock, and darted to the desk where the notebook sat. He remembered something. After five years he finally had a clue as to who he was. Those three people were obviously children, his children. Ripping open the drawer to the desk, he took out a pen.

He needed to write this down, just to make sure he never forgot it. The memory was like a fish barely caught by the fin. L felt it wriggling against his conscious mind, desperate to retreat back into his subconscious. He opened the notebook, and began to jot down everything he gathered from the sparse memory.

The youngest one had white hair, and was albino. The one that spoke first had blonde hair, while the other one had red. He wasn't sure of their genders, their voices were too young for him to tell. He put the pen to his lips momentarily, keeping the blurred images in mind. The little one mentioned evidence, and how he convicted a man. L wrote down the statement. Maybe he'd been a lawyer. That explained his intelligence, and his passion for mystery. A detective worked as well. All he knew was that he had something to do with the law. He doubted he was a police officer. He wasn't what anyone would call a physical threat.

Something struck him. His amnesia was psychological. Though he was guessing entirely, the hypothesis made sense. If he convicted criminals, surely he had enemies. Nobody was trying to find him, and from what he was able to gather, no one reported him missing. If those three children belonged to him, he was 95 percent certain they were dead. L's eyes widened at his revelation. If he had been the father, then it was possible that their deaths were the cause of his amnesia.

His mind didn't want to remember them, because they were connected to the event that made his mind collapse on itself. The more he played with it, the more it made sense. L wasn't sure what they looked like other than their hair color, and he didn't know their names, but they had been his. After all this time he had a possible answer. Someone he convicted, or maybe someone who was associated with someone he convicted, murdered his children.

Before he got too worked up, he reminded himself that this was only a possibility, but those children had been important. L stopped writing, and let his mind relax. Now that it was all on paper, there was no way for him to forget. After a moment of staring at his hurried notes, his thoughts drifted back to Mrs. Snow. He doubted this was what she had in mind when she told him to keep a journal.

That other person came to mind, the person Mrs. Snow awakened with her very presence. It was the blurred face of someone who had cared for him. Maybe it was his father? Maybe it was another friend that was like Mrs. Snow? L felt his frown deepen when he realized that whoever it was, was probably dead along with the children. He took the pen to the paper, and wrote his last note.

_Emma Snow, reminds me of an elderly person. Possibly my father, or a family friend. I assume the person cared for me since Mrs. Snow's behavior shows a sort of nurturing nature. Person was male, as in my poor vision I can make out a mustache and balding, slicked back hair. _

Forty seconds later, the entire shelter went into an uproar.

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Yaaay, I killed an old lady! So what do you think? Again sorry if it was boring. Please let me know if I did okay. Again, this will all be modified when my beta gets back to me. Hopefully at least one will get back to me. ^^; I'm just nervous.


	3. Unwanted Guest

Hey guys, sorry about the long update and the boring first two chapters. I'm sure this makes up for it. Well, more at the end I don't want to keep you. Light's a butt-face

**Special thanks to luckystars123 for her awesome beta work. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note**

* * *

"Of all times, why now?" L whispered repeatedly as he wandered back to his room. A few minutes ago- though to L it seemed like hours- someone had come banging on his door, informing him Mrs. Snow was having a heart attack. He had bolted out of his cramped living space and into the cafeteria in time to see the paramedics rushing the old woman on a stretcher to the ambulance.

Though L had never felt too attached to her as a person, the old man she reminded him of died with her. His black eyes were hooded and tired as he made the trek back to his room. The shock was overwhelming, and he felt the muscles beneath his skin tremble. Mrs. Snow had been old, and a heart attack was inevitable, but it still hurt. L wasn't mourning her, however- he was mourning the lost memory.

What little he gathered of the old man from the past was still locked in his mind, but there would be no more. The woman was going to die. L came to that conclusion as soon as they withdrew the ATP, stuck the pads on her thin chest, and shocked her. The machine meant that her heart had stopped, and though L admitted that he was rather dark in his thought process, deep down he knew that it would never beat again. She was going to die, and the thought almost made him want to weep.

His chest was tight with tension and he felt a lump rise in his throat. There was no way he was going to cry, but the way he felt now made him want to vomit. She was gone, and there was nothing he could have done. Why now? Why now when he just remembered that he possibly might have been a father? Why was fate being so cruel, that when he took one step forward, it pushed him two steps back?

When Mrs. Snow spoke to him, it was as if that man was there with him. L hoped that if he spent more time with her, little by little the old man's face would be revealed. Now that she was gone, the man was going to remain a faceless blur. The carpet was rough on his bare feet as he shuffled past the lounge and into the residential hall. He let a pale hand rest on the white-washed wall to balance himself. It was all too much. The mist that clouded his mind seemed to be mocking him, keeping the faces of not only the old man, but the children away from him.

"Emma Snow," L murmured, closing his eyes, trying to recall the image of the elderly gentleman. The foggy picture floated and wavered in his vision. It gave him the blurred face topped with the slicked back grey hair that curled slightly at the ends. "Come on, please. Give me a face," He growled through clenched teeth. His mind rebelled, and as if to spite him, he was brought back to the graveyard memory. L let out a harsh sigh and gave up.

He just needed to go to bed. L began to walk again and stopped before his door. He didn't even bother to dig in his jean pockets for his key, knowing he'd been in too much of a hurry to lock it. L reached out a hand, and twisted the knob, the metal hinges squeaking softly. His eyes were locked with his feet as he walked through the entrance and closed the door behind him.

"Hello, Ryuzaki," a cool voice greeted. L jumped at the sudden noise, his already fast-beating heart leaping into his throat. His black eyes shot upwards, meeting with a pair of deep red irises. They were cloaked in the shadows of the approaching night, appearing to float in midair.

_Oh god, it's a demon!_ L instinctively backed away into the door, his spine colliding painfully with the doorknob. He hissed at the sting, but kept his eyes locked on the crimson orbs in front of him. His rational thoughts tried to justify them, but the frightened adrenaline filled part of his brain ordered him to run.

"W-who are you?" he gasped, doing his best to keep his voice strong. "And why are you in my room?"

"You know who I am," the voice said. L let his hand shoot out towards light switch, and the room was illuminated. He felt his mouth hang open slightly at what he saw. It wasn't a demon at all, but a man sitting on his cot. "How have you been?" The man smiled, but it was a mocking smile, one that made L shrink even further back while his hand searched for the doorknob.

The intruder was rather attractive with light brown hair and a slim figure clad in black, but his blood-like eyes took away from his flawless skin and pretty face. They were narrowed evilly, making L believe that he shouldn't rule out the possibility of him being a demon completely.

"I don't know who you are," L informed, his fingers wrapping themselves around the knob behind him. He was prepared to bolt, and warn the caretakers of this trespassing.

"Come on, Ryuzaki," the brown haired man smirked. "Don't play dumb with me, you know who you're talking to." L stared at the intruder, dumbfounded.

"What did you call me?"

"Ryuzaki." The man cocked his head slightly at this, his arrogant grin fading into a look of contemplation. "You remember me, right?" L let his hand fall from the doorknob as his thoughts began to swarm.

"Who are you?" L asked again, though his tone was quiet, almost hesitant. The man stood up from his place on L's cot, and took a few steps closer. This time L didn't shrink away, but met the man's menacing crimson gaze with his own stoic black.

The smile on the other man's face was completely gone now, replaced by a look of near bewilderment.

"It's me, Light," The man supplied. His hand came to rub his chin, while the other played with a tiny silver cross dangling from his neck. "Light Yagami?"

"I've never heard that name," L said, shaking his head. There was absolutely nothing remotely familiar about this 'Light Yagami.' There were no flickers of images or any strange feeling of familiarity or knowing. L was looking at a stranger. His brain came up with the conclusion that Light was simply a mentally ill homeless man. Despite how attractive he was, his clothes were nothing to brag about. They were completely generic and black, with no tags or logos- perfect attire for someone living on the streets. "Look, I don't know who you think you're talking to, but believe me, I don't know who you are."

"Really?" Light's eyes seemed to flash, causing L to flinch inwardly, but outside he remained firm and unafraid. It was probably just a disease he had that made his eyes glow red. Surely there were cases such as this in the medical books- an oversupply of blood maybe?

"I think you should leave." L opened the door and gestured outside. "If you leave now, I promise not to report you." To L's annoyance and unease, Light began to laugh.

"Oh, I won't be going anywhere, anytime soon." L frowned. Butterflies began to flutter restlessly in his stomach. He didn't like Light, not one bit. There was something snake-like about his gorgeous appearance, and L found himself staring at his mouth, searching for fangs.

"If you don't leave on your own, I'll call someone to make you," L stated calmly. He straitened his crooked back as much as he could in an attempt to make himself taller. Light obviously didn't appreciate the effort and turned away from L, grabbing the container of cookies as he plopped back down on the cot. To L's utter horror, he opened the top, grabbed one of the cookies, and began to eat.

"You know, these are really good," Light complimented, taking another bite. "Chocolate chip." L was rendered speechless. Did this person have the audacity to not only trespass, but eat what little food he had? The initial shock was starting to fade, quickly being replaced by anger.

"Put that down and get out or I'm calling the police," he warned lowly. Light simply tossed his head back, the mocking grin returning to his face.

"There's not a force on this planet that can make me leave," the man finished off the first cookie, and began to eat another. "They'll all think you're nuts if you call the police." L grit his teeth, not liking the way the other man seemed to be playing with him. Even by just sitting there so high and mighty, he seemed to be mocking L, belittling his intelligence. The dark haired man wasn't stupid, and he certainly wasn't up for playing this disturbed individual's games.

"I'm serious," he began, his tone firm. "I don't know who you are, and I'm not in the mood to play mind games. Look, I've got work tomorrow, and in case you're new here, an old woman I know had a heart attack a few minutes ago. I'm tired, and I _will_ call the police if you don't leave in the next ten seconds." The grin once again faded, and Light's brows furrowed.

"You really don't remember do you?" L let out an exasperated sigh.

"Remember what?" He let his knuckles kneed his forehead, but kept one weary eye on the intruder. "I'm really tired, and I don't think you realize who you're talking to. I'm just another homeless man." L knew that it wasn't true, that he was more than just a bum. The fact he had a private room was enough to prove he had more drive than your average hobo. Light apparently was aware of this as well.

"You and I both know you're lying," he began. "You just said you have a job, and I've learned this place offers cheap private rooms for those who are paid near nothing. If you were just another homeless bum, then you'd be stuffed in the public room with the rest of the lowlifes."

L didn't like the way Light said 'lowlifes.' Though he agreed that some people in the public room simply needed to get a job, there were some that had other issues, and needed a place to sleep while they pulled their lives back together. When he first stumbled across Hawley-Smoot, he spent his fair share of time in the public room.

"Okay, but you still need to leave- you're trespassing," L informed, deciding to take control, padding over to where Light sat. "I'd appreciate if you stopped eating my food. Those were a gift." Light simply stared back at him, cookie in mid journey to his mouth.

"Or what? You can't do anything to me," Light snickered, taking another bite. At this, L's patience was worn to the very last shreds, and he made a grab for the container.

In a split second, Light was gone and L's hands were grasping at empty air. It was then he realized that the other man had jumped backwards off the bed and was vertically crouching on the wall. Two black wings had sprouted from Light's back and that same smug look from before was plastered to his face as he stared down at the homeless man. L's eyes were wide with shock.

"How are you…?" he began weakly, but trailed off. His mind derailed thanks to Light's ability to stay stuck to the wall like an oversized spider and the fact he grew wings seemingly out of nowhere in time span it took him to blink. "Oh my God," L murmured as he gazed numbly at Light.

"See, they'll think you're crazy because you're the only one that can see me," Light explained, finishing off the cookie. "No point in calling the authorities on someone they can't see." L slowly began to back away, his mind reeling with questions. The dominant part of him was trying to convince himself that he was crazy, while the more primitive instincts screamed danger.

He felt his back bump into the opposite wall, and he sank down into a sitting position, not even bothering to bring his knees to his chest as he usually did.

"What are you?" he voiced, amazed at his ability to keep it from trembling. His heart rate quickened as Light serenely floated down from his spot on the wall. To L's horror, the creature padded over to where he sat and crouched in front of him, arms wrapping around his knees, the plastic container was gripped in his right hand.

L was shocked to find that Light's eyes were no longer red, but a light brown. They weren't narrowed and slanted like a serpent, but wide, almost doe-like, maybe even inviting and friendly. The stark contrast made L question whether he had imagined the red eyes in the first place, or if Light was simply changing tactics. He would have convinced himself that he imagined the whole thing if it weren't for the feathery black wings folded neatly against the other man's shoulder blades.

Another surprise came when Light held out the half-eaten cookie container to him, as if he were offering a peace treaty. With a lack of other possible reactions, L took it silently, but with steady hands. The shock and slight fear was still evident on his face, but for the moment there was nothing he could do about it.

"What are you?" he asked again. "An angel? A demon? A figment of my imagination? Are you my conscious saying that I did something wrong?" L knew he was babbling, but his mind was overflowing with possible explanations, and speaking them out loud eased the growing tension in his head. Light didn't seem bothered, and waited until he was done to answer.

"I'm a Shinigami." L wasn't sure where he heard the word before, but something about it was awfully familiar.

"A Japanese Death God?" he asked. Looking at Light now, despite his oddly colored hair and eyes for someone of his race, he was in fact, Japanese. "I must be insane."

"No, I'm real," Light assured. "You aren't crazy."

"You're kind of far away from your homeland aren't you?"

"You don't have the slightest clue who I am?" Light stated, ignoring L's question, his face now guarded.

"I've told you before, no," L repeated, but with less venom then previously. Something told him pissing off a Death God was not a very wise thing to do. Light's now brown eyes seemed to analyze him carefully, but whatever he was thinking was securely guarded behind a mask of apathy. L was usually accurate at reading people, for their intentions were obvious in facial expression and body language, but Light gave nothing away. There was no twitching of the mouth, movement in the eyes, or nervous swallowing. His face was completely still. L concluded that he had practice at hiding emotions and he was a very good actor, something that made him automatically distrust the Shinigami.

After a moment of awkward silence, Light's handsome face broke out into a smile yet again. This time however, it was one of friendliness instead of mocking. His eyes drifted downwards apologetically as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." L watched as he let a hand rub the back of his head in what was portrayed as a nervous gesture. Oh, he was good at acting alright. "I was confused at why you didn't remember me, but now I feel so stupid. Again, I'm really sorry." L let his usual emotionless mask slip over the shocked expression. He was all business now, his logical thoughts crushing the instincts that told him to flee. He wanted to get to the bottom of this.

"Why did you call me Ryuzaki?" Light's eyes were downcast for a moment, and when he looked up the sadness seemed genuine.

"Well, you look a lot like a friend I had," Light explained. "That's why I looked so smug when you came in."

"Shinigami can have human friends?" L asked, letting the tip of his thumb brush his bottom lip. There was no more fear and uncertainty in his voice, but curiosity and thoughtfulness.

"Well, I've never heard of it, but I can't say that it's necessarily forbidden," Light answered. "I'm relatively new at being a Shinigami. I knew Ryuzaki before… well, you know."

"So you were human before you became a Shinigami," L concluded. "And I'm assuming that you died."

"Yeah, if you want to put it that bluntly." Light's eyes were narrowed, but the expression was far from the serpentine predatory gaze he held when L first walked in. The dark-haired man automatically doubted that Light and Ryuzaki had ever been friends. Light's behavior had been rude, not to mention unsettling, something a friend wasn't. The sadness he showed earlier seemed genuine, but then L reminded himself of how in control Light seemed of everything his body did. Apparently he was used to being under scrutiny, and was a professional at lying through his teeth.

"I don't believe you," L stated matter-of-factly.

"Excuse me?" Light's brown eyes widened.

"I don't believe you and this Ryuzaki were ever friends," he began. "When I first came in, the way you described yourself as 'smug' was an understatement. You're behavior was rude, not to mention hostile- something associated more with enemies rather than friends, am I right?"

"Well-" Light started, but L wasn't finished.

"Furthermore, the way you automatically helped yourself to my food shows that not only are you cocky, but you want to state your dominance and possibly declare a challenge to me. I can tell you're young, as this behavior is common in males in their early twenties, and late teens." To his surprise, rather than show the annoyance and spite L expected, Light began to laugh. It wasn't mocking or sarcastic, but amused, something that made the homeless man bristle slightly.

"Okay, okay, you got me," The Shinigami chuckled, his eyes closed in sickening cheeriness. "You're right about the whole cookie thing, but believe it or not, Ryuzaki and I were really good friends."

"Not, as I explained before." Light's smile still didn't fade.

"Yeah, a lot of people said that about us. Ryuzaki and I were both extremely stubborn and, I admit, had pretty large egos. We tended to challenge each other and fight a lot, but that didn't mean we didn't care about one another."

"Really?" The other man still didn't sound convinced. "A friendship that consists of constant challenging and fighting does not sound like a friendship to me."

"We were more siblings than anything, and sometimes we started arguments just for the hell of it," Light opened his eyes, and they seemed to shimmer slightly. "I mean, yeah we fought all the time, and we grated each other's nerves, but in the end we understood each other." Light paused for a moment, looking the other man square in the eye. "I really miss him." A sudden thought came to mind at the Shinigami's words. L didn't remember who he was. The theory was only in the 10 percent range, but it was possible. Though he didn't feel any rush of excitement at the idea, he had to explore every possibility.

"Maybe you're right," L thought aloud. "I have no memory of my life before five years ago. Stop me if I'm wrong, since there's only a 10 percent chance to begin with, but is there a possibility that maybe I am Ryuzaki?"

"No," Light managed to make his voice waver a little. If L's suspicions weren't so high, then he might have been fooled into thinking Light was actually on the verge of crying. However he wasn't, and kept his face blank.

"Why not?"

"He died shortly before I did," Light answered, his gaze drifting downwards. Well, L wasn't too disappointed. The possibility had been low in the first place.

"I know pretty stupid, huh?" Light looked up again, a very convincing sad smile on his face. "You look so much like him though, I forgot he died too."

"How did you die?" L asked. "Does everyone become a Shinigami when they die?"

"No, and I was shot." The discomforted look on Light's face was true, and for once L felt a little twinge of pity for him. "I'd rather not talk about it. It was…painful to say the least."

"I can imagine."

"Anyway," Light stated, adopting a lighter tone. "I bet you want to know why I'm here, right?" L blinked slowly, trying to keep Light in his vision for as long as possible.

"That was actually going to be my first question. Unfortunately, I was overwhelmed. It's not everyday a spiritual deity breaks into your room," L continued to gaze into the Death God's soft brown eyes. "Are you here to collect my soul? Because if you are, I won't come easy." Light chuckled softly.

"No, no, it doesn't necessarily work that way," he said. "Actually, I'm here because you have something of mine." L thought for a moment, remembering the red eyes he thought he imagined in the tree.

"Does it happen to be a notebook?" he questioned. To his satisfaction Light nodded.

"Sharp aren't you? For anybody else I'd have to explain."

"Well if you want it back, it's on the desk over there," L pointed to the desk. "I wrote on the first page, but you can tear it out. I doubt you'll understand much of it." Instead of walking, as L expected, Light floated over to the desk on his open wings, and picked up the notebook. Opening the front cover, he took a moment to study L's hurried notes, before returning to where the other man sat.

"Looks like you're trying to remember whatever happened to you before five years ago," he said, as his feet met with the carpet, and he retuned to his crouching position. The large black wings once again folded neatly against Light's shoulders.

"That part is not too hard to guess," L answered.

"No, but unfortunately, I can't take it back," Light informed, closing it and holding it back out to L. "I dropped it, so it belonged to the human world. You picked it up, so now it belongs to you." L took it distastefully before putting it right back down.

"Well, that's great, but what if I don't want it?"

"That's too bad, because you already wrote a name." Light picked the notebook off the floor once more and opened it to the first page, his finger poised next to Mrs. Snow's name.

"So what does that mean?" L frowned.

"Come on, Ryuzaki," Light encouraged. "You know what it means. All the pieces are right in front of you, just put them together." Though L didn't like the way Light was toying with him, or that he referred to him by the name of his dead friend, his mind automatically leapt at the challenge.

It didn't take him long. The notebook belonged to a Death God, and L had written Mrs. Snow's name inside of it. Shortly after, she died of a heart attack. L felt all the blood drain from his face. Light was right, all the pieces were there, and now that he put them together, he wished he could rip them apart and forget.

"Are you saying...?" he started, but found his voice faltering. Light looked at him unsmiling, his eyes grim and nodded. L instantly felt his muscles give in, and he was on his knees, heart once again beating relentlessly against his ribcage. One thin hand came to rest over his mouth as bile rose in his throat. "You're saying _I _killed her?"

"Hey, don't get too worked up," Light's voice said from somewhere above him. "There was no way you could have known. It was an accident."

"I'm a murderer," L concluded, looking up at the Shinigami with wide black eyes. He didn't care that the concrete wall he put up was gone, the knowledge that he killed a kind old lady was enough to make him want to die himself. "I killed a person." For once, Light's airy attitude faded, and he put a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder.

"It was an accident. Don't feel bad, she was going to die by the end of the week anyway," he told L, though the Death God's voice sounded strained and uncomfortable. Light obviously wasn't used to comforting people. L deduced that he had been a heartless shrew in life. However, the thought that the old woman would have died anyway was a cold comfort that made him feel slightly less terrible.

"You can tell when people die?" Light merely gave him a look, and L swallowed roughly. "Of course you can. I'm just shaken that's all."

"What you have is my Death Note," Light explained, brushing away L's previous statement. "The human whose name is written in it will die." L took the notebook from Light, and stared at it as if it were a rotting carcass.

"All you have to do is write a name?"

"And think of a face, so that a person with the same name isn't affected." Light's loftiness returned now that L seemed better after his three seconds of grief. "I also hate to mention this, but after you write a name, as a human, you have to write a new one every thirteen days or you die as well."

"What?" L's face twisted until a look of anguish rested on his features. What little self control he gained after learning of his hand in Mrs. Snow's death quickly vanished. "I have to kill more people? But it was an accident!" His eyes shifted to Light, who's own gaze was widened slightly in surprise.

"Seeing you so worked up is like seeing Ryuzaki," Light said. "He never let his emotions out like this." L didn't care, and threw the notebook across the room as if it had just burned him. It hit the opposite wall, and landed on its open pages. L growled lowly, letting his palms slam against his forehead.

"I don't care about your friend, okay?" he looked up again, his eyes resting heavily on the Shinigami. "Are you saying I have to kill?"

"Well you don't _have _to," Light smirked a little. "Unless you want to live past thirteen days."

"This is too much." L got up off the floor and headed to his cot, where he promptly curled into a fetal position, chewing away at his already nonexistent nails. "This can't be real. I'm obviously having some sort of dream. Work has been hard lately." His mind was trying to get itself around the twisted story, and finding itself unable to, it pushed him into denial. "I've just gone crazy. I'll go to the doctor tomorrow after work, get medication, some sleeping pills, and get the day off. I'm stressed, that's all, stressed. Magical killing notebooks don't exist. Japanese Death Gods don't exist. Where did my mind come up with this?" Suddenly, he was face to face with a pair of brown eyes, and he jumped back a little, startled at their sudden appearance.

"Denial is the mind's way of coping with something extreme," Light stated. L sat up, only able to see the Death God's eyes that were peeking over the side of the mattress. Light was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at the other man with an unreadable expression. L just stared, slowly turning his head so that he stared at the bookshelf shoved against the wall. He heard Light sigh from the side and stand up.

"What are you doing?" L asked, though with little interest. He was still busy staring at his assortment of books, his mind trying to come to grips with all that happened. The squeaking of door hinges brought his attention to Light, who had just closed the door that L hadn't realized been open.

"Figured you needed some privacy." From the corner of his eye, he watched the Shinigami bend down, and pick up the Death Note from its place on the floor. Light floated back to the dark-haired man on his wings, landing in front of him on the bed, blocking his view of the various mystery novels and encyclopedias.

"You're still in denial, right?" L didn't answer, his dark eyes unblinking and wide. Light took it as a yes, and continued. "You've heard of Kira, correct?" Realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He heard of the infamous Kira from nearly everybody in the shelter. Kira had been top news for years, with his killings of criminals and people that stood in his way. It was the case that the great detective L was working on. Apparently they had caught the suspect only recently, but never released how he killed his victims. Obviously this was done to quell the public's fear, and to stop such a weapon from getting out again. L's blank gaze slowly dropped to the Death Note.

So that was how Kira did it. This was how he killed all those people. They had all died of heart attacks, just like Emma Snow. It was real, and L felt his heart hammer away at his ribcage, as if trying to escape the doomed body it inhabited. L had never agreed with Kira's ways. Even though he hadn't heard all of the details, the way the 'god' played with the authorities was far too human. Humans didn't have a right to judge their own race, especially since L was a firm believer in the notion that there were two sides to every story. This thirteen day rule changed everything, however. Kira had no choice but to kill, and now he was trapped in the same cycle.

"Hello?" Light waved a hand in front of the other man's face. L shook his head, apparently he'd been thinking too long.

"Yeah, I heard about the Kira case," L stated. Light nodded, apparently realizing that L had figured it out on his own. L didn't like the way the Shinigami seemed to read him so easily. To everybody else he'd been a sort of enigma, keeping his emotions tucked away behind a bored expression. Not only had the Death God brought them out into the open, even when L covered them up again, Light still saw through the mask.

"Well, think about what Kira did," Light offered. "At least he made the world a better place under such circumstances." Light started to hover above the white sheets, and drifted over to the bookcase, where a small black and white television sat on the middle shelf. L almost forgot he had the device since he cared little about the media, but it had been another gift from Mrs. Snow, and he had to accept. Thinking about her now made his stomach do a painful flip, and he turned away from Light, his eyes catching something odd.

They had made their way back to the oval shaped mirror, and though the glass reflected the entire room flawlessly, one thing was strangely absent. Light. The Shinigami was floating right in front of the mirror, but the glass showed only an undisturbed bookcase. The black-winged man messing with the various knobs on the dusty little box had no reflection. L couldn't say he was surprised, but it was still odd. It was like he was watching some old vampire movie. It became clear to him that Light wasn't part of this world. He was a creature from another realm, one of darkness, and he had forced some of that darkness onto L in the form of an innocent looking notebook.

He very quickly began to resent the Shinigami, and found himself turning away from the mirror to glare at Light's back.

"How does this thing work?" Light asked. "It's so ancient. I've never seen anything like it, especially not in Japan."

"Your name is Light, right?" The Death God stopped his fiddling and glanced over his shoulder at the human.

"Yeah, and...?" L decided since Light was able to read him so well, he didn't need to say anything about his lack of a reflection, and instead jerked his head backwards, indicating the mirror. Sure enough, Light followed his gesture and cocked his head slightly at the discovery. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he stated quietly. "I'm not sure why it happens, other than my guess that since I'm technically from another realm, my presence doesn't fully register here."

"But you can touch objects," L pointed out.

"Yeah, I'm not sure what to make of that, but we're digressing."

"Digressing from what? I'm not killing anyone," L continued to glare stubbornly. An annoyed expression flickered on the Shinigami's face, but he seemed to think better of it, and replaced it with a look of mock pity, something that nearly made L lash out and attempt to give the Death God a swift kick in the face. He managed to reel in his temper as Light spoke again.

"Look, I want to help you," he assured. "I figured since you have to kill someone every thirteen days, why not kill someone who the world would be better off without?"

"Who says I have any right to decide who the world is better off without?" L countered, firmly convinced of his position. "What if I'd rather just die?" At this, Light laughed bitterly.

"Oh please don't pretend to be so high and mighty. You might resist at first, but I can guarantee you will write a name by the end of thirteen days. It's not your fault, the instinct to live is still running strong in humans as well as every other animal." This only hardened L's firm resolve to not write at all. One thing that he discovered during the first few days of his awakening was that he was stubborn and resilient. He loved to prove others wrong to make a point, no matter how childish the point seemed. It was this bullheaded resolve that helped him survive the past five years with no memory.

"Again, I refuse to kill anybody," he turned away from Light, and fell over on his side. "You can go away. You're wasting your time."

"I would, but you're still the owner of the Death Note. Besides, from what I gathered about you now is that, strangely enough, you're almost an exact replica of Ryuzaki, and the Ryuzaki I knew would never allow himself to die to try and prove a point. A stupid point nonetheless."

"Well I'm not Ryuzaki."

"We'll see," Light said simply. "I have a proposition for you. One thing Ryuzaki couldn't resist was a little equivalent exchange for his efforts." L let out a soft sigh. Light was right. It was as if the Death God knew everything about him, and that disturbed him slightly. No, not slightly, _greatly_.

"What is it?" Feeling Light's eyes boring into him, L rolled onto his back to meet the Shinigami's eye. Oddly, instead of the doe-like orbs he'd been expecting, he found two fiery embers glaring down at him. Light was hovering a few feet above him, the gentle flap of his wings sending unnaturally cool drafts down L's skin.

"I know your name." This caught L off guard. "If you kill someone before your thirteen days are up, I'll tell you what it is." Thankfully, L was able to regard Light with a usual apathetic gaze, despite the intensity of the red-eyed Death God's words. He knew it had been a mistake to tell Light about his memory loss, and his own yearning to find out who he was turned against him. He did like equivalent exchange, but not like this. Besides, ever since they began 'talking' Light had been toying with him, and though L's desperate side begged him to give into the Shinigami, the bullheaded stubborn side that refused to be controlled, kept his morals strong.

"I deduce your eyes can see the names and lifespan of everyone," L said, keeping his voice monotone and unrevealing.

"That's correct, but I won't be telling you your lifespan. That would be just cruel, and I doubt you'd want to know anyway." L gave the impression he was considering Light's offer, when really he was cursing himself for having ever touched the Death Note.

"No," he said after a moment. "I won't do it. The last Kira was caught, and I have too much at stake to risk, not just my 'high and mighty act' as you put it. I admit my morals are an issue, but also the fact that if one Kira was caught, then who's to say the next one won't be caught as well?"

"Because I'm willing to help." Light's voice was tense, his red eyes back to their serpent-like appearance. He was obviously holding back a lot of what he wanted to say for his temper's sake. "Shinigami are usually spectators when a human touches a Death Note, but not me. I'll help you and make sure you don't get caught, I know every human's name, and despite your 'morals' Kira did the right thing."

"No, he didn't!" L snapped, annoyed at Light's persistence. "I told you, no! I'd be no better than a murderer myself if I went about killing people. Kira was forced to kill innocents too- people who were only doing their jobs- just so he wouldn't get caught, and I will not stoop to that level. It's not my place to kill anybody, especially since I don't remember who I am. For all I know, I could be a deranged sociopath."

Light was fuming, his face twisted into a very threatening scowl, and for a moment L wondered if he had crossed the line. He had to remember that Light was a Death God, and had the ability to kill him at any given time. Still, his morals held true, he refused to kill anybody, especially since Light himself said that he picked the notebook up by total accident. He wasn't chosen to do this, he just had rotten luck. Rotten luck didn't make him a God, and it certainly didn't give him any right to pass judgment like one.

"Stupid!" Light snarled, holding open the Death Note to where L scrawled Mrs. Snow's name. "You already killed someone, and have thirteen days before you have to kill again."

"Why do you want me to kill so badly?" L asked suspiciously. "If I didn't know any better, you act a lot like Kira, and you've just recently become a Shinigami, right?"

"I know what you're implying, and no, I'm not Kira, just someone who agrees with him. To me all humans are the same, greedy and corrupted. It was a human that killed me, and turned me into this. I just figured since you have to kill no matter what, you might want to kill someone that deserved it."

"You've said that before, and my answer is still no, and that's final," L stated firmly. He was about to leave it at that, but decided to push the Shinigami's buttons a little further. After all, Light had been playing with him, why not play with Light? "I feel really bad for you too, judging and hating all humans just because one person hurt you. Not everyone is as evil as you think," L paused, rolling over, and pulling the covers over his head. That statement should have gotten him, the egotistical bastard. "I should know. I just killed the perfect example of my point."

"I don't need your pity!" Light hissed, hostility dripping like venom. L smirked with satisfaction from under his warm comforter.

"Then don't take it," L yawned, letting his eyes close. "I have thirteen days before I have to write, that's almost two weeks. I'll sleep on it."

"No, you won't," he heard Light say lowly, before the weight of a body landed on top of him. L felt all the air rush out of his chest as two strong hands gripped his upper arms, and yanked him around so he was lying on his back.

L's heart fluttered as he stared up at Light, his face bewildered. The Shinigami's eyes were once again brown, but that didn't make L feel any less threatened. He was totally helpless beneath Light's weight, and knees squeezing into his ribs. It was rather painful, and L had a feeling that he'd have bruises tomorrow. That was, if Light wasn't planning on killing him. The creature was inhumanly strong as his hands remained clamped around L's upper arms, and the dark haired man found himself instinctively trying to wriggle free.

"Don't bother," Light stated. "You can't budge me." This didn't stop L in the slightest, and he found his legs kicking against the bed as he tried to buck the Death God off his chest. Light seemed to weigh at least three-hundred pounds, and L was quickly becoming exhausted.

He had no choice, he'd have to hit Light if he wanted to get away. Quickly, he brought his knee upwards, aimed to hit Light square in the back, but gasped when it went strait through the Shinigami. His kneecap was sticking out of Light's chest. Light looked down momentarily at the limb protruding from his body, but then snapped his gaze back to L.

"Again, don't bother," his voice was a mockery of L's own monotone, and that only made L want to hit him more.

"The percentage of me writing a name is getting lower and lower, Light," L warned. Light made a small noise the sounded like a 'tsk' and rolled his eyes. L continued to glare up at him, forfeiting his attempts at escape. His forehead was already damp with sweat from his efforts, and it was painfully clear that though Light could touch him, he could not touch Light. "What do you hope to achieve with this rather awkward position?"

Light smiled again, the false and now very sickening cheeriness returning.

"I'll get bored if you fall asleep. Why don't you stay up and keep me company?" L's glare melted into a look of weariness.

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"Bastard," L muttered, now completely drained. What a horrible thing to say to a person who was forced into a situation like this. Light really had no tact, not that he was trying.

"Hey, don't blame me. You're the one that picked the Death Note up. I never forced you to," the Shinigami pointed out.

"I was under the impression that it was just a notebook." L let his eyes close against the darkening room and the unwanted guest.

"It still didn't belong to you," Light teased. "I guess this is a lesson of 'don't touch what isn't yours'."

_Ugh, he has a point, _L thought bitterly. Technically, he had taken what was someone else's, since he hadn't bought it, just found it on the ground. Granted, he had witnessed it fall from the sky, but still that should have been a red flag to not touch it. _So much for my genius… _

"I'm going to sleep whether you're on top of me or not," L stated, eyes still closed. "I'm running on three hours and I'd like to get three more before work tomorrow."

"Oh, Ryuzaki... you don't mind if I call you Ryuzaki do you?" Light questioned. "Since you refused my generous offer to tell you your real one, I assumed you might want me to call you something."

"Everybody here calls me Sam, but whatever you want," L grumbled. "I'm going to sleep."

"Oh, no," Light laughed, and squeezed L's arms until they hurt, causing the human to hiss softly. "We're talking, so I suggest you open your eyes. Who knows, maybe I can get you to see the light and write a name?"

"I doubt it," L said, refusing to open his eyes. "Do your worst. I'm exhausted, and can sleep through a train wreck."

"Oh really?" the smirk was clear in Light's voice, though L could only see the back of his eyelids. For a moment all was quiet and, if it weren't for the obvious wieght on his chest, L would have thought Light to be gone. This wasn't the case, as the most heinous thing L ever heard broke the silence. After about three seconds of the torture, he realized the source of the shrieking was Light. The sound that spewed from the Shinigami's mouth was worse then a train wreck. It grated L's ears and made his brain reel within his skull. The noise bounced off the walls and L's bloodshot eyes cracked open.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

"I'm singing- this song was very popular in Japan," Light said, before continuing his deranged 'singing.'

L groaned, wishing he were dead.

* * *

Mean old Light lying about the thirteen day rule again, jerk. Thanks for getting this far. I hope the L/Light interaction wasn't too boring or majorly OOC. Let me know if it was and I'll fix it. I origonally wanted the interaction to be more lighthearted and L to trust Light, but their personalities got in the way. Light's to much of a duche, and L's a paranoid freak, even if he doesn't remember all that happened to him. Damn them. Next chapter will be rated M so watch out. It's something very bad and also uncomfortable for me to write, but it's neccisary for the plot. Hope you liked it, let me know if the're any problems. Bye for now.


	4. Two Sides of the Coin

Hey guys here's the next chapter. Thank you so much for the 30+ reviews you guys make me feel so loved!This chapter does bring this story to rated M, though it's nothing too graphic. I guess I'm just paranoid, but just to make sure. Near will later become a very important character so look out for him in the coming chapters. Also, this fic takes place in Nottingham, England. I had to do a lot of research on Google maps just for this so I hope I'm don't portray anything wrongly If I do just PM me.

**Thanks to luckystars123 and Amanda Saitou for the beta work**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note**

* * *

Finally seeing through the eyes of a Shinigami was wondrous for Light. To say that they only showed the names and the lifespan of a human was an understatement. To be born with them as a real Shinigami gave the newborn full access to the benefits. The young Death God found he was able to see perfectly in the dark, and often roamed the halls of the homeless shelter out of boredom, gazing in awe at how crystal clear everything was in the pitch darkness. Light also found he was able to read a human's heat signature, and from what he observed, depending on the color of heat a certain human gave off, it told whether the person in question was ill or well intentioned.

The few children he saw had blue auras, while the alcoholics and druggies gave off a purplish. There were other colors as well: greens, yellows, and reds, but Light didn't have the time or the free reign to explore each human and find out if they were good or bad. What he was able to gather was that a blue aura meant innocence and naivety, while he hypothesized that the purplish one either meant the person was lazy, stupid or some combination of the two.

L, unfortunately, didn't give off either one. Instead, he was surrounded by a black ring. So far Light hadn't seen anybody else with that color, but assumed it had to do with his name in the Death Note. Perhaps the black rings were a sign to other Shinigami that the person was already written in another notebook. Light wasn't sure, but he'd figure it out. Thankfully, he found he was able to switch the auras off rather easily and grasped the new powers involved with being a Death God almost naturally. Turning the auras off was like moving a finger.

It didn't take long for Light to find out that the city in which L lived was named Nottingham, and that it was one of the more dangerous cities in England. Last year, the media had reported it as the 'gun-crime capitol of the UK.' Light wasn't sure if this was true since he was well aware that the media tended to be biased, but some of the streets outside of the more touristy spots tended to look like a place for crime to fester. He did notice a lot of people around those areas had red auras.

Despite its unfortunate ranking, Light admitted that there was some beautiful architecture in the city. Hawley-Smoot was nowhere near the vast cathedrals and historic buildings the bus took them through everyday, but it was the closest thing L could take to get in walking distance from his home. Sadly, most of the people on the bus were tourists, and they were always snapping pictures of the Wallaton Park, The Galleries of Justice, and the other more interesting historical buildings. Most of their auras were blue along with whatever other color Light assumed they were normally.

In life, the Death God's eyes had never been too sensitive, but now every time a picture was taken his pupils dilated painfully and he was forced to bend over and rub his eyes as they rebelled from the pain. It took about five minutes each time for his vision to clear enough to where he could read the names floating above each tourist's head. He never remembered Ryuk having any trouble with bright lights, but he figured that his 'newborn' status was to blame.

The bus rides seemed to last forever, and L made a point to ignore Light and instead stare blankly out the window, knees drawn to his chest. Needless to say, L's posture earned him a few stares, but then again, Light wasn't the only thing he was ignoring. He kept this icy exterior even when he arrived at his destination.

Seeing L waxing tiles and cleaning bathrooms was a mixed blessing for Light. On one hand, it was hilarious to see the man that had ruthlessly pursued him reduced to nothing more than a janitor, but on the other, it was also sickening. Light had unknowingly put the detective on a pedestal of the highest esteem, and watching the brilliant mind that rivaled his own rot everyday in a grocery store was almost too much to bear.

His own Death Note rested open in his palms, right to the page where Rem scrawled her last message of L's murder. Light wondered how he could have missed the page in the five years he had the notebook. Maybe it was because he was so intent on killing that he never bothered to flip to the back. Whatever the reason, he saw it now and was studying it thoroughly, trying to decipher the ancient hieroglyphics that were drawn around the letters IABD.

_Interference Acceptable By Death, _Light thought. Did Rem really expect him to give his own life for L of all people? Light knew Rem was smarter than this. She'd been older and far more serious than Ryuk, and though he still thought of her as stupid for giving her life away for Misa, he knew without a doubt that when it didn't come to the bubbly model, Rem was incredibly intelligent. Something about this was bothering him greatly. It was like someone was conspiring against him. He felt as if L were stalking him all over again.

Light drifted silently through the aisles of greasy snacks on what was the fifth day of L's refusal to write. He passed the pudgy man rocking back and forth on the floor for what had to be the forth time. The man had been in that same spot everyday Light had followed L, and seemed to be a fixture in the store that everyone walked by without a second thought. The shoppers that came in were just as oblivious to the obviously mentally ill man as to the Shinigami. It almost seemed as if Light was oblivious to them as well, and in a way, he was. The names and numbers that floated above their heads meant nothing to him. He was trying to digest how much L had changed.

No longer was he the stone detective, backed with an army of boundless resources and access to anywhere in the world. Now, he was just a poor janitor/clerk that could barely afford a tiny room in a homeless shelter. L's emotions now played across his face like little movies, though he still tried to hide them under a frail mask of apathy. He wasn't unreadable anymore, and although it was fascinating it was also disturbing.

Light remembered reading in the rules that regardless of how many times a name was written, the human would die forty seconds after the first. Thinking about it now, L _had _died. It was clear the old L was dead and buried under the nameless cross _permanently_. No matter how much he wanted it, this L would never be who he used to be. Light knew that bits and pieces of the old L's memories still remained in this one simply from the brief notes the ex-detective had written in the Death Note, but the Shinigami now understood death intimately. There were laws that not even he with all his genius could find loopholes in.

Granted, he was sure that he had centuries of knowledge to learn, and couldn't compare to Ryuk or even Rem, but dying himself gave him insight onto the basics. One could not simply return to life unscathed. There was always a price to pay. L's memories would never return. That was part of a different life that had come to an end. Those memories had been abandoned as soon as L's soul was ripped from his body. The now homeless detective had simply been brought back in a new body to die again, just as the Death Note dictated.

The skillful way L emotions was one of the aspects that had been thoroughly butchered, and Light relished in the fact he was able to get under the ex-detective's skin so easily. It was so different from the blank shell of a human that had stared at him with empty black eyes.

Oh, he still tried to hide, and to others he seemed like the emotionless wall he once was, but not to Light. Light had spent nearly every waking minute observing L, his new routine, his anger, and his exhaustion. It was beautiful, yet somehow awkward and wrong that suddenly his worst enemy was now an open book.

His reaction to Light was expected (he had one similar when he first saw Rem) but he'd truly been frightened of Light. He had even staggered backwards, those bottomless eyes filled with strange emotions. L and emotions didn't mix, and seeing them on him now was like being with a different person.

The fact he didn't remember Light was hurtful along with disappointing. Light had been looking forward to laughing in L's face about the way he cheated death, but that was impossible. Sure, the fact he didn't remember anything was a great help to Kira, but to Light it was, dare he say…disheartening? L was still as stubborn as a mule when it came to people controlling him, and it also annoyed Light that the suspicion the human held for him carried over from his past life. The fact remained that though L seemed to remember the three heirs, and a little of Watari, Light had been completely washed away. Was he that unimportant to L? Was he so easy to forget about? He rolled his eyes at the thought. It made him sound like a teenage girl.

It was so strange to see L stagger from his lumpy cot every morning to perform the normal tasks everyone did. Light remembered L as the pale wisp of a man who did nothing but bathe in the ghostly light of computer monitors as he chased Kira like a rabid bloodhound- not the exhausted soul that was forced out of bed during the earliest hour just to take a private shower.

Every morning at exactly three o'clock am, L wandered down the hall, Light following close behind, to the public shower, where he bathed and brushed his teeth, grasping the brush between thumb and forefinger. Seeing L go through a normal routine was like watching a grizzly bear trying to ice skate, awkward and unnatural. When they had been chained together, L seemed to be more of a machine than a person, always staring, always thinking, and always trying to trap Light.

Now his years of insomnia seemed to have caught up with him, and by the third day of Light keeping him awake, he had passed out cold. Though Light tried to shake him awake every time his dark-rimmed eyes closed, L would come to only for a few seconds before his brain shut down again.

Light figured he got his revenge for the sleepless nights L put him through, and let him rest once he stopped waking up entirely. As a result, L slept long past three, missed his shower, and on top of that, was late for work when he finally regained consciousness. Needless to say he'd been fuming and panicking, more emotions Light absorbed hungrily. The way those once soulless eyes widened when L realized what time it was made Light want to say something to anger him even further. He wanted to see L's face redden with rage and be unable to do anything about it. Just like Light had been unable to do anything about L's constant accusations.

Light passed through the snack aisle, and found L mopping up some spilled coffee on the other side. Once again that blank face was pulled over the annoyance and rage he had expressed openly that morning, though there wasn't much he could do to hide his tiredness. Light had serenaded him for three days strait with horrid J-pop songs he remembered Sayu blasting from her room. L was much slower in his movements, like he had to think carefully about everything he did, and he stopped his scrubbing every so often to yawn or rub his eyes.

"Look, I really hate to keep you up, so why not just write one name?" Light spoke. L startled at the sudden noise and looked up, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"What did I say about talking to me in public?" L murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal. No one except you can hear me," Light muttered. Now he knew how Ryuk felt when Light ignored him, it was irritating to say the least. Speaking of Ryuk, Light hadn't seen him since leaving the tree. He assumed the older reaper had returned to the Shinigami Realm once he got his apple fix to watch from there. It was a pity. He would have liked someone other than L to talk to.

"I don't need my boss thinking I'm talking to myself," L stated, standing up and moving down the empty isle. "It's bad enough that I was late yesterday thanks to you."

"I happen to think I have a lovely singing voice," Light grinned as L glared at him over his shoulder. It was all just a game to him. He knew L like the back of his hand, and there was no way he'd risk death; he'd write eventually. The same false rule that kept Light and Misa safe was the same rule that was now giving Light so much pleasure. Dare he say he was enjoying this little game of making L see the light? "All you have to do is write one little name just a bit earlier than your mandatory thirteen days, and I'll stop."

"No, you want me to be the next Kira," L halted in front of the store's deli area, and began cleaning the display cases that had numerous fingerprints across the glass. "Don't try to make it less than what it is."

"Why won't you?" Light asked for what had to be the thousandth time. "I already offered my assistance and my offer from before still stands. You and I are both far more intelligent than anyone on this planet. Think of what we could do together."

"Three reasons," L said simply. Moving away from the deli display case, he walked behind it to begin sweeping the employee area.

"You don't trust me."

"That's fifty percent of it. It's obvious you have your own agenda, and something tells me you haven't been telling me the entire truth." He swept the grime and meat shavings into a neat pile. Some things about the old L seemed to survive the mental trauma, like how annoyingly perceptive he was along with the fact he was a paranoid freak.

"So most of it is due to the fact you're overly apprehensive. I'm also well aware of your morals, however misguided they are." L tensed at this, but managed to hold his tongue.

"Yes, and I'm sure you can guess the third."

"Why don't you humor me and tell?" Light offered. "You missed a spot." The Shinigami pointed to a clutter of dirt. L let out a small huff, and swept it into the growing pile.

"Simple, human nature," L stated matter-of-factly. "There's a nice quote by Lord Acton in a letter he wrote to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887, 'Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely.' You can figure it out from that." L took the dustpan out of the small cart he was pushing and began sweeping his pile into it. Light thought about this, genuinely surprised by L's forwardness, apparently he lost his taste for mind games. That was slightly disappointing.

"In other words you don't trust yourself. I did notice you took it with you today," Light said, spotting the black notebook beneath the cleaning supplies on L's cart.

"I won't lie and say it's not tempting," L murmured thoughtfully, glancing around momentarily to make sure they were still alone. "But I have a feeling as soon as I start writing names I won't be able to stop, and I'll start killing for the wrong reasons. Much like Kira." Light decided to ignore the subtle jab. Best not let L think he got under his skin. If he reacted with anything other than amusement, the bastard would gain the upper hand.

"I'd keep you in line," Light offered instead. L didn't even look at him as he finished his task.

"Like that makes me feel any better."

"I am a Death God, I think I know when human insanity reaches its peak." L didn't bother to answer, instead taking the time to yawn and head to a nearby sink to fill a bucket with water and chemicals.

"Are you almost done?" Light groaned, as he watched L withdraw a mop from the cart.

"I have to mop up before I can leave for the night," he explained. Light merely floated above the display case, contemplating whether he should reach through the glass and mess up the assortment of meats. He decided against it, for if he hampered L's work then it'd take longer to get out of this horrible store. Also, if L lost this job, with no paperwork or any memory of his history it was doubtful he'd get another one, and without a job he'd have no money to pay for his private room.

After about ten minutes of watching L mop in silence, Light spoke again.

"Ryuzaki, can I ask you something?"

L didn't even bother to tease Light with hesitation and simply nodded as a woman wandered by with a basket.

"In the end, no matter what you do or no matter how long you'll stall, the fact remains that by the end of thirteen days, you have to kill someone or die. Why not get it over with?" L left the question dangling for so long that Light figured he refused to answer. He was about to press again, when L spoke.

"Because I want to be uncorrupted for a little while longer," he whispered softly. "This job is so beneath me that I've had five years to get to know myself without distraction. You've deprived me of sleep, nearly got me fired, and my life has gone to hell in the past five days." L heaved a sigh, his weariness even more apparent. He checked around a few more times before beginning his explanation. "I'm tired of playing games so I'll tell you about what I think about this kind of power. First of all, a notebook like that is trouble, especially since the world is still frightened by the first Kira's reign. They'll catch on that another Kira is on the loose right away if people start dying again.

"Second of all, when I touch it, I can sense the lure of power. I know myself, and though I may start out with good intentions, things like this tend to get out of hand. It may begin with criminals, but I'll have to start killing people who are trying to capture me, use their families as leverage. It's happened throughout history. You can't stop crime, no matter what. Crime is as old as human kind itself. Yes, it's an unfortunate stain, but it's a stain you can't wash out. You might be able to make it fade, but it will never go away. In the end, Kira was chasing a futile dream. There was no point to the slaughter." Light felt his eyes narrow, but let L continue his speech uninterrupted.

"Even if you could remove crime, then what? I'd still have to write names every thirteen days or die. What would my 'subjects' think of that? They'd have to sacrifice an innocent person every two weeks to keep their 'god' alive. A perfect world means that no innocent is killed unnecessarily.

"Don't you see? There is no such thing as a perfect world, because humans are not perfect. I'm certainly not perfect and have no right to expect that from everybody else. Humans will always make mistakes, it's part of living. No one will be able to live because if they made an inevitable mistake, their life would be taken. They wouldn't live out of happiness as a perfect world requires, but out of fear. Kira wouldn't be a savior, he'd be a tyrant. Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and Kira all had one thing in common," L stopped speaking, and kept his eyes averted from Light, as if expecting the Death God to strike him.

"Having said that, I guess I'm doomed to follow that road," he finished, still moping hurriedly. "If I could give up this notebook I would."

"You are awfully chatty," Light noted with mild amusement. He held back the usual angry rant for the sake of keeping his omniscient appearance in the matter. "Either I'm making an impression or you've lost your resolve completely and are trying to make me see it your way." L halted his progress shortly to glance at Light.

"No, I'm just answering your question. That's why I'm putting off writing a name."

"Understandable, but your logic is a tad flawed."

"Don't bother to argue. You'll get what you want in the end. You're right, I'm not willing to die to prove this particular point, but I won't write until the very last day." At that they both were silent. All that needed to be said had been said. Light would still push him to do it earlier, but there was no doubt that L would write a name, and that once he did, he wouldn't be able to stop. Light had won, and L was begrudgingly admitting it.

Light wasn't sure why he was determined to make L write when he could have just as easily told the detective that all he had to do was give up the Death Note. However, that meant that he'd never see L again. Now that they were on the same side (no matter how reluctant one of them was) Light wanted to be with L. He had given the past five years some thought, and had come to the conclusion that he hadn't been lying when he told the former detective that he missed Ryuzaki. In a strange twisted way, they truly had been friends. Sure, it hadn't been the traditional sense of the word since they were just as much enemies, but after L died the first time, life had seemed so dull without him.

_There's nothing to look forward to anymore, _he had told Ryuk, calming himself after yelling and cackling in his supposed victory. Screaming into the silent earth left him empty, especially when he realized that L would never answer back. He was gone forever, never to challenge Light's mind or bounce ideas off of. L's death had hurt Light in its own way. If it had been any other time, any other place, they could have been something. They might have been the traditional sense of the word friends.

"I'm finished," L stated, dumping the dirty water into the sink. He placed the ratty mop inside the now empty bucket, and put it on the bottom rack of the cart. "Let me clock out and we'll go home."

"You know my offer still stands," Light tried again already knowing the outcome. L didn't bother to answer as Light followed him to the janitor's closet. L pushed the cleaning supplies inside the loose swinging door, disappearing momentarily before reappearing with the Death Note tucked under his arm. Wordlessly, he clocked out, waving briefly to his fellow co-workers as they threw a few goodbyes his way.

"Goodnight Steve," L bid to the rocking man. He made no reply and continued to stare ahead at something only he could see. The ex-detective pushed open the double glass doors that had a cheery '_come again soon' _pasted across them, and walked outside into the warm June air. He didn't bother to hold them open for Light, who simply drifted through like a ghost.

"Is that guy's name really Steve?" Light asked as L began his slow walk down the parking lot to the sidewalk further away.

"I'm not sure, but he's been there since I started working and that's what he was called then too," L answered. It was twelve' o clock at night, and the rather large store was nestled in what Light assumed was a safer part of town, since it was built on the outskirts of the city.

Unfortunately, L had to walk back into the midst of the urban jungle to get to his bus stop. The bus was part of the only line that ran twenty-four hours a day, and was the only one that stopped this close to his job.

In about ten minutes they were surrounded by harsh warehouses and dingy buildings. The streets were practically abandoned as L walked with the invisible reaper floating behind him. The slight thumping noise made by L's tennis shoes seemed magnified in the stillness, only the occasional speeding car breaking it. Light found himself comparing it to the calm before the storm as they approached a tall bridge that allowed traffic to pass above the street he and L were currently walking on.

The two had traveled this way for five days, and everything to Light still seemed horrifying and disgusting. Graffiti was spray painted across buildings, saying obscene things and displaying gang signs. Trash littered the sides of roads and was everywhere under the bridge along with cigarette buds and beer cans from the local pubs. Light wouldn't be surprised if the few girls they saw get into cars were prostitutes. Apparently after Kira's death, the crime spree here exploded.

_Not for long though. _Light checked to make sure that L still had the Death Note, and found that the human was gripping it rather hard, his posture more hunched than usual.

At this time, L's pace had picked up slightly. Light noticed this trend whenever they passed under the bridge. Apparently that was the point where things got dangerous. It was only until they returned to the main roads where people and traffic were plentiful did L relax. They began to walk under the bridge, Light spotting a few large rats scurrying away into exposed pipes.

"I noticed for the past five days that whenever we pass under this bridge, you walk faster," Light commented. "The bus doesn't arrive until twelve thirty."

"Look around," L said simply, his black eyes darting from right to left as he hurried down the street, now practically jogging. His paranoid and untrusting nature was obviously the cause for a lot of this strange behavior, but Light didn't blame him. Though he spent his fair amount of time wandering Tokyo at night, even one of the largest cities in the world didn't seem so threatening compared to this one. He figured any place that wasn't home always seemed scarier than it truly was, but something about this particular street always struck a bad nerve.

A few moments later, as they were passing an alleyway between two rundown buildings, the human and Death God froze as they heard voices. They were hushed and angry, while a woman was crying and begging softly,

"Please don't hurt me. I have three children."

"Shut your mouth you dumb bitch, or I'll fucking rip your throat out," a man hissed. Light flew in just behind L, who was staring in horror at the scene before him. Two men were standing down the alley, pinning a young woman against the wall of the other building. Though it was a too dark for L to clearly see, Light was able to view not just their faces, but their heat signatures. The two men had bright red auras, while the helpless woman was surrounded by a pulsating blue. Light switched off the auras and found one of the men was holding a knife to the woman's throat. Light's eyes fixed on their names: George Monroe, Peter Shane, and Mandy Kelly.

"Let's just do this before someone shows up," Monroe said.

"Please-" Kelly began.

"I told you to shut the fuck up!" Shane yelled. There was a loud slap, and the woman yelped in pain before falling to the ground. Her lifespan was relatively long, so the men didn't plan to kill her. That meant only two things: either they were planning to rob her, or…

"Now, be a good girl, open your legs, and stay still," Monroe cooed sickeningly. That was when Light felt the harsh fury pulse through him. How dare they? On habit, he reached for the Death Note holstered on his leg and opened it to a blank page. He was about to write the two men's names, when Ryuk's voice broke through the cloud of anger and disgust,

_Protect a human, you die. Simple and clean. _Light halted his progress, and slammed the notebook shut. He was useless. There was nothing he could do to help this girl. Light cursed loudly, startling L, who had been transfixed with the scene down the alley. He too was holding his Death Note open, but seemed unsure of what to do. Light felt a sudden rush of hope. They had the power to stop this before it happened, if only L let go of his misguided morals.

"George Monroe, and Peter Shane!" Light blurted out. "Write their names! Hurry!"

L simply stared at him, fear and confusion written on his face. He was torn between what he thought was right and the chance to stop the monsters.

"Ryuzaki, they're going to rape her!" Down the alley there was the ripping of clothes, and the woman began to scream. Light could see the struggle and was sure L could too. Kelly was fighting hard, but she was no match for the two men above her. Shane grabbed her flailing arms, and pinned them behind her head, while Monroe delivered a sharp punch to her face.

L flinched at the impact and pulled a pen out of his jean pocket, visibly trembling. He uncapped it, but paused, his hand freezing just above the paper.

"Somebody please help me!" The woman sobbed as Monroe began pulling at her blouse. That one punch caused her to lose most of the fight within her, but she still writhed and twisted feebly.

"Ryuzaki, don't let them do it!" Light was practically begging. Kira was right here, but he was useless. He'd die if he wrote to protect Kelly. "Please, don't let them do that to her!" L's long fingers were tight against the pen and tiny spasms racked his body. His teeth were clenched tightly as he held the pen over the Death Note. Light landed on the ground, his wings vanishing as put a hand on the human's shoulder, his brown eyes wide and his mouth pulled into a tight line.

"I can't," L whispered, looking at Light pleadingly. "You do it."

"I'll die if I protect a human," Light said, managing to keep his voice calm. "Don't let that innocent woman be hurt. It's the right thing to do." Kelly was absolutely bawling as the men began to pull down her skirt. "Peter Shane and George Monroe." L nodded.

He stood firm for a few moments before taking a deep breath.

"Leave her alone!" The men's heads turned upward from their crying victim and they instantly started towards him, glancing over their shoulders at the sobbing mass of torn clothes. Kelly had curled into a protective ball, her hands covering her face.

"We're not finished with you yet! You run, we'll hunt you down and you'll get it much worse!" Shane yelled. L stood firm, no longer quaking with fear, but filled to the brim with apparent confidence and authority. It was almost like looking at the old L.

What was he doing? Was he trying to get himself killed? The Shinigami looked at his companion as if he had sprouted two heads. All he needed to do was write the names, not play the hero. The woman was going to see him and watch her attackers drop dead. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, especially since Kira was still fresh in the minds of nearly everyone in the world. Though women were weaker easily manipulated, he knew they weren't as stupid as they acted.

"What did you say, freak?" One of the men growled as the two exited the alley, and into the light of the street lamps. Realization hit Light as the two rapists stalked out of the shadows. L wasn't able to see their faces when they were in the dark. He had no choice but to draw them out.

Both of them were rather ugly, with greasy brown hair, and faces plagued by acne scars. Monroe wore glasses, and was slightly overweight, while Shane was thin as a rail, and had a stringy beard. The two began to circle L like vultures. Their eyes were beady and small, reminding Light of sharks, and he unknowingly stood closer to L, feeling a small amount of protectiveness over the ex-detective. It was clear that these men could rip L to shreds, especially if he didn't remember how to fight.

"I said leave her alone," L repeated, his black eyes narrowed and cold. His voice was low and gruff, as he began to quickly write their names. Light watched with a mix of awe and accomplishment as the pen traveled across the page. Each letter formed was like a proclamation of victory to all his work and struggle. Seeing L do something he considered evil in a past life was so satisfying, and Light found himself grinning despite the situation. The same black ring that was around L appeared around both men, seemingly sealing their fates.

After he finished, his face was blank and unmoving. The fear and hesitation that had been so apparent before was now stuffed behind a mask of certainty. Light kept a firm hand on his shoulder, still standing close behind. He glanced up at the numbers floating above L's head, and was relieved to see them unchanged.

"What are you writing there?" Shane asked. "Your will? You're going to need one when we're done with you." Light kept his eyes on the knife warily, his grin of satisfaction fading. It didn't take forty seconds for someone to lunge and stab.

"What are your plans for stalling?" Light whispered in L's ear, even though the men were not able to hear him.

"I should have you know that sexual assault is a serious crime," L stated matter-of-factly. "You can get serious jail time for it." The men didn't seem fazed, and continued to pace around him like hungry dogs.

"She won't press charges if she knows what's good for her," Monroe spat, holding the knife out so that it glinted in the street light.

"Threatening someone is also a serious crime." L's dark eyes were on the knife and his body instinctively began to back away. The men noticed this and began to snicker, disturbing leers plastered to their faces.

"What are you going to do about it, freak?" Monroe asked, taking a threatening step closer. L didn't flinch, but kept his face calm, continuing to back away slowly. Light kept in step with him, hand tight on L's shoulder, his own face set in a deep frown, and his muscles tensed, ready to throw L out of the way of the knife that the larger man seemed so keen on using.

"Twenty seconds," Light reported.

"Just leave her alone, go on your way, and nobody has to hear about this." L was doing his best to stall, but even through his confident and in-control exterior, Light knew that he was getting nervous. In the crisis, Light's hearing had intensified and he was able to hear the hurried beats of the ex-detective's heart.

"Let's not waste time with this talk," Shane complained. He seemed to be the impatient one of the pair, the one that acted first before thinking later. "Let's get rid of the freak before we finish with the bitch."

"Shut up!" Monroe snapped. "We might have fun with him too. We'll show the bitch what it's like to-" Monroe's eyes suddenly went wide, and he clutched his chest, knees trembling. The metal knife clattered to the pavement. He began to gasp before he collapsed, eyes bulging.

"Run!" Light hissed, releasing the human's shoulder. L took the initiative, leaping over the dying man and bolting down the street. Light watched as he disappeared, his white shirt the last thing Light saw before he turned down another street further down the road. He didn't follow immediately, but watched as the scumbags gripped their chests, gasping and screaming in pain. Light stood over them, his red eyes drinking in the sight hungrily as their numbers seemed to skydive closer and closer to zero.

They writhed and squirmed like the worms they were, and the smile was back on Light's face. They deserved this pain. They dared to break the laws of society. Kira's laws. Light knew these two had been one of the many cowards who hid during Kira's reign. Justice was swift however, and they had been judged.

As the men took their last breaths, Light looked over to the alleyway and saw the woman creep out from between the buildings. She was young, only in her mid twenties from what the Shinigami could tell. Dark brown hair was frazzled around her tanned face, and her eyeliner dipped down her cheeks from where she cried. Trembling hands held her torn blouse over her chest, and her blue eyes were wide as she glanced around fearfully. Light felt disgust wash over him as he noticed the left side of her face was swollen from the nasty punch she received.

"You better get home to those three kids, Mandy Kelly," he warned quietly, knowing that she was unable to hear him. Her eyes found her dead attackers, and she gasped, falling back against the building momentarily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her face instantly turned upwards and the name she spoke sent a chill of pleasure down his spine.

"Thank you, Kira," she breathed. "Thank you for returning." After a moment, she took a shuddering breath and headed down the street, walking purposefully, doing her best to appear unfazed. Light watched her go before taking to the sky to find L.

It didn't take long- he was still connected to L's Death Note, and it beckoned him to another alleyway not to far away. When he landed, L was leaning against the wall of another building, face paler than usual, his eyes wide as he stared down at the notebook in his hands. He was trembling again, the brave front the put up for the rapists completely torn down. He jerked slightly as the Shinigami's feet touched the ground, but didn't look up.

Light knew he'd been scared. Even in his old life, L had never been up close to the criminals he perused. He always hid behind computer screens and buildings, safe from their intentions and acts of monstrosity. He never looked into the evil in their eyes, a screen separating detective from suspect. Maybe that was the reason he didn't understand why Kira did what he did? It was one thing to look at a murderer on a television or computer, but another thing entirely to be in the same room with one.

"Are you okay?" Light asked, letting concern seep into his voice.

"They were going to rape her," L said softly eyes on his shoes. "They didn't care. Even when someone stood up to them they were going to kill me and still do what they wanted."

"No offense Ryuzaki, but you aren't the most threatening person out there." Light attempted to add some humor to the situation, but all he got was a blank look from L. "Right, but now you know the other side to the argument."

"They didn't care," L repeated. "Who knows what they would have done to her if we hadn't of been there?"

"Do you see now?" Light asked, keeping his tone gentle. "That's why Kira was right. Those men didn't care if they hurt her. They didn't care if they hurt you." Light watched with curiosity as L lifted a hand to place it on his shoulder.

"Your hand was on my shoulder," L said. Light blinked, analyzing the statement. He knew what L was implying, but he wasn't even sure what he had been thinking, remembering that small twinge of protectiveness. It was probably best to tell the truth. That might win a bit of L's trust.

"I was worried about you," Light admitted. "I was going to push you out of the way if that man came after you." L gazed up at him, his face showing nothing but surprise. Good, that was the reaction he'd been expecting. However, after a moment the surprise vanished, and L turned away, expression cold.

"Is it because I look like you're friend or is it because you need me?"

"Both," Light stated. "Look, the point is you saved an innocent person from going through something horrible. Her lifespan was still long so they didn't plan to kill her. Even so, you know what rape does to a person?"

"Have you been raped?" L asked his face serious.

"No!" Light exclaimed.

"Then how would you know?" Light paused, then frowned. There was nothing L could do to him now, but the old habit of keeping all personal information under wraps was hard to kill.

"Because…Ryuzaki and I worked on a police force back in Japan. I saw rape victims all the time in Tokyo. It absolutely destroyed them. They were humiliated and violated," Light said. "I know rape very well. You saw them right? You saw the look in their eyes. They didn't care that they were hurting her, that she had children, or that she might be married. I've seen a lot of things in my life, and that's how I know Kira was right. If you hadn't of killed them, then they'd have done it again to another woman."

L didn't speak, eyes still locked with his shoes.

"You like percentages right? Did you know 80 percent of criminals that get out of jail go right back in for the same crime within six months? Even if she had turned them in, they'd have gone to jail, come back out, and done it again."

"I know," L said. "I've never seen anybody like that. In the five years I've walked down here. I've never seen anybody do that."

"Do you understand?" Light asked, voice still soft. "You did the right thing. You stopped them from ever hurting anybody else." L nodded. "It wasn't your fault. You did what any normal human being would do. Hey, look at me." For once L's stubbornness didn't prevent him from obeying and he met the Shinigami's eyes. "I said I'd tell you your name if you wrote a name before your thirteen days were up."

L's mouth opened slightly and he pushed his body off the wall. He stood directly in front of Light, eyes nearly begging.

"I need to know," He said, his voice amazingly calm, yet firm. Light smiled gently, knowing that he had L eating out of the palms of his hands. If this didn't win L's undying devotion, or even a little bit of his trust, then nothing would. Light had played his cards right, for once besting the irritating detective.

"First I need to know what you're going to do." L's face hardened at this. It was apparent he didn't appreciate Light's disguised demand. He was stubborn and didn't like being manipulated, but Light wasn't trying to manipulate, just trying to get him to see the right path. Light was trying to save him from his misguided morals. Light wanted this over with. "No more games, no more tricks. We can work together and actually accomplish something, or you can fight me and I will make your life hell. What are you going to do?" L backed away from him, eyes glaring and full of distrust.

They stood that way for what seemed like hours. Light didn't see himself reflected in those deathly black orbs like he had when they had been together in a past life. It helped keep his resolve strong, not to see himself twisted in L's eyes. The human was still glaring at him, his mouth a taunt line. Light didn't back down, he wasn't going to let L get the best of him again. The more they stared into the each other's eyes, the more Light saw L's own resolve weakening. It was gradual, almost comparable to erosion the way his expression ever so slowly melted from his features. His lips began to twitch uncomfortably and his firm eye contact was broken. Finally, L spoke.

"Fine, I'll write," he said, turning away. Light grinned, eyes closing in satisfaction.

"Good choice, L Lawliet."

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Thanks for getting this far. I know a lot of what Light feels is inconsistent, but I always viewed him as sort of scatter-brained if you know what I mean. Also the homeless shelter is something of my own invention, along with the street L walks on in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think. OOCness is my main worry. Thanks again for all the reviews they make me so happy!


	5. Calm Before the Storm

Hey guys, angel here! thank you so much for your many amazing reviews they really keep me writing! I call this chapter 'Calm Before the Storm' because this is basically the chapter before the shit hits the fan. Unfortunately before we get to the shit, I have to tie a few plot points. I hope you enjoy, more at the end!

**Clean up crew for my grammar is luckystars123 she's the bomb!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note :(  
**

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L stared at Light, mouth slightly agape, simply because he wasn't sure what else to do. The fact he had a name now was an indescribable feeling, a mix between the exhilaration of discovery and apprehensiveness. He wasn't inclined to trust Light entirely, but for once, the Shinigami seemed completely honest. There was no malicious glint in his deceptively innocent eyes. Light looked back at him with a small 'you-owe-me' smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

No, Light wasn't lying. He was also sure that the Shinigami had been truthful about wanting to protect him from the rapists, but knew his reasons for doing so were completely for his own self-benefit. It wasn't as if the knife was able to hurt him, and he needed L if he wanted to continue Kira's work. Shinigami died if they protected humans, making Light's relentless and overbearing behavior crystal clear. However, despite the obvious motives for sticking around, Light had no reason to lie about his name.

Still, he found it odd that his first name consisted of only a letter. He slowly put one of his slightly trembling hands in his pocket, while the other held the Death Note in an iron grasp. Taking a deep breath, he brushed past Light and left the alley. He wasn't sure how long he had been leaning against the building trying to get his body to stop shaking, but he concluded that he missed the bus. L sighed, closing his tired eyes momentarily to stop the building frustration.

"Hey, where are you going?" Light asked from within the alley.

"I need something to eat," L said. It was true, he needed something sweet. L decided to shove all stressful and confusing thoughts to the back of his head. His mind was once again overloaded. Sugar always slowed his racing ideas and heightened his deducting abilities. Once he got something in his stomach, all this craziness would fall into place.

"Where are you going to get something at midnight?"

"That gas station we always pass. They have very good doughnuts and since you've eaten the last of the cookies, I'm in need of one," he stated, cursing Light's shared craving for sugar. At least all the Shinigami drank was water from the taps, keeping his cheap generic soda safe when he was fortunate enough to afford it. L looked over his shoulder to find the Death God hovering close behind, an understanding smile on his face.

"Strange that you aren't asking why I want a doughnut so late at night," L commented, facing the front again.

"You're mind is overloaded and due to your lack of sleep, you can't process or handle your thoughts and emotions right now, so you need to ingest some sort of stimuli to keep your brain running," Light observed with no hesitation. L sighed again, slumping his shoulders further.

"I hate it when you do that."

"Hate what?" Light asked, still smiling when he appeared next to L rather than following from behind. L glared at him, he was obviously just trying to be a pain in the ass.

"When you're irritating, which is all the time."

"Are you saying you hate me, Ryuzaki?"

"Can't say I enjoy your company." L made his way down another street, his heart finally falling into a normal rhythm as more cars and people passed by. His recent encounter still left him shaken, and for once, he wasn't eager to be alone. "You know in Japanese manga, a story like this often pairs the unlucky guy with a pretty girl," L muttered. He heard Light scoff beside him.

"Please do not compare this to a manga."

"Unfortunately, I can't. Because instead of a naïve subservient beautiful girl… I get you." L let his eyes close once more, bringing his free hand up to rub his aching temples.

"Oh sorry," a woman apologized when she accidentally bumped into him. She gave him a brief pat on the shoulder before continuing on her way, cell phone to her ear. "Oh no, honey, not you," she spoke into the device.

L didn't bother to listen further, instead made his way across the street to a small gas station. Since it was so late, there weren't many cars by the pumps and the tiny parking lot was practically empty. Stopping just before the glass door, L reached into his pocket and withdrew the needed money from his pathetic reserves.

"You sure that's going to be enough?" Light peered over L's shoulder, his wings sending uncomfortably chilly drafts down the dark haired man's spine yet again. He hated the Shinigami's wings, but knew better than to let Light on to this. If he showed the slightest discomfort, the Death God would certainly flap them harder just to spite him.

Without answering, L pushed open the doors, the loud clanging of wind chimes greeting him as he stepped inside. The humming of the air conditioning reverberated throughout the isles, and bright fluorescent lights lit the black and white tiles below. A dark skinned man was leaning behind the nearby counter, a magazine propped in his right hand while the other rested below his chin. He looked up momentarily to see L, then returned to reading, apparently bored beyond belief.

"So where are these doughnuts?" Light looked around expectantly, his brown eyes scanning above the potato chips and cleaning supplies. L started forward, fingers still clutched around his meager amounts of cash. Weaving his way through the various isles, he came to a small glass stand where various pastries were displayed on three sets of racks. On the roof of the enclosed stand were two heat lamps, while paper bags and small squares of wax paper were stationed on the side.

L took one square of wax paper and slid open the display case. His hand ghosted over the strawberry filled crawlers, before halting over the chocolate glazed doughnuts. Unable to help himself, he felt his mouth begin to water at the thought of how crumbly yet moist it appeared. The soft doughnut looked so warm and delicious. He could practically taste the chocolate on his salivating tongue.

…_Chocolate? _

He felt a jolt of familiarity and froze abruptly. His hand went limp, dropping the wax paper on top of one of the awaiting pastries. The obscured face of the blond child flickered before his eyes, causing him to blink once before gazing straight ahead in a trance. He stood motionless, dark orbs wide and oblivious to the odd look Light gave him.

Through the haze that hid the child's identity, L saw two blue eyes staring back at him. That was something he had never seen before. He was starting to remember. He clung to the image desperately, body still frozen as his conscious and subconscious minds brawled for the image. The scattered remnants of voices spoke in his head, disjointed as the picture itself. Now, the voice sounded older and deeper. So the blond child was a boy.

_Th…ank…..seeing….name…Beyond…..L.A._

"Ryuzaki?" Light's voice was muffled against the hum of his warring thoughts and scattered words that were trying to be heard. His mind reeled at the mention of Beyond and L.A. He remembered that this had been a meeting with the blond boy. L had been telling him a story about someone else. Another picture swarmed into view to stand next to the blond boy. It was the hazy memory of a taller leaner man. "Ryuzaki are you okay? That guy is staring at you." L's heart fluttered at the resemblance. Even through his mind's censorship, he was able to see the unruly black hair, the wiry hunched body, and the clean white shirt.

For a moment he thought he was looking at a memory of himself, but realized he was mistaken when he tried to see the other man's face. His doppelganger had glaring red eyes. They reminded him of deep pools of fire, almost like Light's. More memories were overflowing the mental levees, threatening to split them down the middle like wood. The blond boy and L's double were standing together, taunting him with an impossible guessing game.

_BB…heart attack, _the blond boy's voice spoke once more. L absorbed every word as if it were life support. After that, they remained silent. L felt their gaze on him as his own mind slammed and fought against itself to clear the memories.

"Ryuzaki, you're scaring me," Light stated warily.

"Hey, buddy, are you going to buy one or not? You're letting the heat out!"

_You…never…came, _the dark haired man's voice spoke softly. It was deeper than the blond boy's yet there was something off-putting about it. The words he spoke bit deep into L's heart, but it was the voice that sent a chill down his spine not even Light's wings compared to. Beneath the feeble layer of normalcy, there was something unhinged about the way his twin spoke, something not right.

Listening to both memories speak, he detected a bit of this in the blond boy as well. L watched as the two mysterious men faded back into the mist of his mind. He let them go, breathing frozen as he was pulled back to reality by Light's persistent call.

"Ryuzaki, snap out of it!" L blinked away the strange flashback, words still coming to him as his mental block faltered further. The blond boy had loved chocolate. L recalled a mouth biting off a large chuck of a chocolate bar. The boy had mentioned L.A. and heart attacks. So Los Angeles, California had something to do with Beyond and BB? Still, that was in America and he was in England.

L's look alike also mentioned him never coming. Was he supposed to meet the two, but failed? What did they have to do with each other besides the fact L had spoken to the blond about his twin? He received more questions than answers, but one word that resiliently battled the mist came to mind.

"Mel..lo?" L uttered quietly, his voice questioning. The word sounded forced and felt odd on his tongue. It was as if he were speaking a different language he had not yet mastered, struggling with the correct pronunciation. He felt Light's brown eyes boring into his own, and slowly realized that the Death God was standing in front of him again, his handsome face looking sincerely worried and surprised.

"What did you say?" Light asked, the concern melting into a guarded glare. L shook his head to clear his mind. There was way too much going on. He was tired, hungry, and still a bit rattled from nearly witnessing a rape. L just wanted to find a place to eat his doughnut, get back to his humble abode, curl up in his cot, and sleep.

"Mello?" L asked again, barely a whisper. He didn't know what the word meant or how it was important, but the fact he remembered it showed it meant something. He doubted it was a name, since 'mellow' was a state of being. Maybe it was an adjective to describe one of the children or the two men?

"Sir, are you going to just stand there or buy something?" L jumped slightly from beneath Light's deadweight stare to see another store clerk looking at him apprehensively, mop in hand.

"Yes, I apologize," he muttered, fully regaining his senses. Light's dark expression cleared and he moved, allowing L access to the doughnuts without having to walk through him. L decided against the chocolate, and went for the strawberry crawler, picking one up with a new square of wax paper and placing it in the bag. After that, keeping his eyes low, he made his way to the checkout counter.

"Hey, aren't you going to get me one?" Light complained. L ignored him, still in shock from the sudden flashback. Apparently, the chocolate had set it off, but L had eaten chocolate before, and though he often avoided eating too much due to the nostalgia it brought on, he never had a flashback. Maybe after five years, whatever trauma he had suffered was finally healing itself. Maybe big factors, like chocolate, that defined a certain person's characteristics brought the memories forward.

So chocolate was what reminded him of the blond boy, but what of his red-eyed twin? Apparently he had something to do with the blond boy, meaning that like chocolate, the blond was a big factor to L's doppelganger. L obviously discussed something related to his look alike with the blond during a meeting of some sort, but the circumstances surrounding it, and the true reason for the talk were unknown.

He also couldn't ignore the fact that when he first remembered the children, the blond was with the redhead and the albino. What did he _really_ have to do with the other dark haired man? Surely just because L mentioned him once to the blond didn't mean the two were best friends. There weren't enough pieces to put together, but one thing he was able to conclude was that his previous theory of the children being murdered by just anybody was suddenly unlikely.

Heart attack was a big clue. Was it possible that he had worked on the Kira case and Kira had murdered them? That seemed plausible.

He suddenly made the connection. His name was L Lawliet, and the greatest detective in the world was named L. Most of the case had been classified, the Japanese government never even releasing the killer's true identity, but they made it clear that the detective had never come to harm. From that, He knew that he wasn't the detective L, but he definitely had a connection to him.

Was it possible that he had worked alongside L? A new theory suddenly came into play. What if L the detective used his name (since it was conveniently one letter) as his famous alias? It was possible that he had been the sleuth's shield. If that were the case, then L couldn't imagine what possessed him to go into that line of work. He put the theory in the 25 percent range and placed it in the back of his mind. Once he ate, he had a lot of other things to think about, and flashbacks were the least of his worries.

The man from behind the counter didn't move as L approached, eyes still traveling across the pages of his magazine. L was able to see the title which read, _Garden Needs. _The bored man didn't look like a gardener, more like an ex-convict. L paid for his doughnut, the man never looking away from the gardening magazine as he rang up the total and took L's money.

Leaving the station, he and Light ventured down the sidewalk further, until they came to the bench that signaled the halfway point to the bus station. A streetlight was stationed next to it, illuminating the black iron. The street was practically abandoned, other than the various cars driving by, and a man passed out on the corner. L had half a mind to walk across the street and wake him up to ask for the time, but decided against it. He simply figured that it was probably around one o'clock or so. L knew the bus had long gone, but needed a rest and a place to eat. He was in for a long walk, and most likely wouldn't get back to Hawley-Smoot for at least another two hours.

"You still had enough money to get me one," Light grumbled, a deep frown on his face. L continued to ignore him, plopping down on the bench, and tucking his feet underneath himself as usual. "Ryuzaki, will you talk to me? Nobody is around." L took the crawler out of the bag, licking the powdered sugar off the tips of his fingers. Already he felt his body respond to the intake, his muscles pumped full of much needed energy.

"Will you stop calling me Ryuzaki?" he asked, opening his mouth as wide as possible before biting down on his treat. The strawberry filling flooded his mouth with sweetness and he chewed hungrily. L couldn't remember the last time he had eaten something so delicious since Light had helped himself to Mrs. Snow's cookies. His sore stomach gratefully accepted the nourishment as he swallowed deeply.

"Depends," Light said, watching enviously as L took another bite of the doughnut. L chewed, letting his tongue snake around his lips to clean off any excess strawberry filling. He swallowed again and sighed.

"You're being most unreasonable," he began. "How about I make a little deal of my own? I'll give you part of the doughnut if you stop calling me Ryuzaki and waking me up when I try to sleep." L watched as Light's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. The Shinigami was considering the offer, and his brown eyes fell to the doughnut, full of lust. He wanted it, he wanted it very badly.

"You've agreed to write names so there's no need for me to deprive you of sleep anymore," Light assured. "And what makes you think you'd need to go to such lengths to get me to call you a different name?"

"Because it's something I'd like you to do," L answered, letting his tongue lick at the sweet filling. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the Shinigami licked his lips hungrily, an intense stare on the pastry.

"Fair enough. So, what would you like me to call you then?" Light asked, diverting his gaze from the doughnut to L's face. L thought for a moment, deciding to finally let the reality of his true name hit him. It was amazing, and to have another person say it aloud would have been wonderful. His own name, his own identity, and not some pet name a sympathetic old woman bestowed upon him.

Then a darker thought hit him. Since he was apparently supposed to become the next Kira, it would be better for his own safety that he continued on with the illusion that he didn't remember his name. For once the amnesia came in handy. He still wasn't too keen about writing in the Death Note, but a deal was a deal, and finally getting a good night's rest was worth it. So, rather than prance around the street singing '_Hello world my name is L Lawliet,' _the only person he'd hear his name from was an obnoxious overbearing Death God. Perfect.

He didn't like his apparent first name. Being only a letter was slightly insulting. Was his mother a condom hating prostitute or something? He wondered briefly if she had gone through every letter of the alphabet when it came to naming children.

_That would make me her twelfth child, _he mused. _Either that or she wasn't very creative. _

_BB…heart attack, _the older voice of the blond child spoke in his head. L frowned than gasped as realization hit him. The flashbacks had something to do with his gaining the Death Note. It was somehow all connected. The odds of him being involved with the past Kira increased dramatically.

Mello really must have been a name, the blond boy's name. But what did he mean by BB and Los Angeles? He dug deeper into what little information he had, seeing a faint connection with the letters. BB and L _were _letters of course, but possibly, like L, BB was a name. The idea struck him, if BB was someone's name, than it made sense. This BB person had been killed by Kira, and L never came to him. So his twin was BB. L let his teeth bite down on his thumbnail. Why did he have to go see BB? Who was he? What did BB and Mello have to do with each other? More questions without answers came.

"Ryuzaki, are you going to answer today or stare off into space again?" Light sighed. L blinked realizing he had gotten off track. "You know, you had me worried in there when you just froze for no reason."

_The only reason you're worried about me is that you need me, _L thought bitterly. "Call me Lawliet," he said finally. Light cocked his head slightly.

"Not L?"

"Forgive me if I'm being childish, but I'm not fond of the fact my name is only a letter. Plus the idea that letter is going to be my enemy soon doesn't bode well." L let his thumb press against his lips, eyes narrowed as his theory of working with L the detective resurfaced. The media reported that Kira had been found in Japan, so L the detective had been working there. If he had helped investigate Kira, then he'd have to know Japanese.

So far, he discovered he was fluent in German, Russian, English, and French, but had only found out because the few tourists he met spoke those languages. Though Nottingham had plenty of Asian citizens, he never had the chance to talk to one.

If his theory was correct, then if he heard the language, he'd be able to understand it. The trick was not really finding someone who spoke it, but getting that person to actually resort to their native tongue. So far, Light had been speaking English extremely well, with barely a hint of an accent. Of course, the Shinigami also 'sang' to him in what L guessed was Japanese, but that was more like the shriek of a cat getting run over by a truck than an actual language. L had to play his cards right if he wanted to get the Death God to do what he wanted.

"Okay, Lawliet," Light smiled, landing on the bench next to L, his large black wings once again folding neatly against his shoulders. "So how about you give me some doughnut?"

"You speak English very well," L commented, looking down momentarily at his half eaten crawler. "Do you miss speaking Japanese?" L watched as Light's face molded into a look of contemplation.

"If you want me to speak Japanese all you have to do is ask," he said after a moment. L grit his teeth from within his tightly closed lips. Light saw through his act as if it were tracing paper. Then again, he realized it hadn't been very tactful and was instantly ashamed of himself. He really needed to clean the cobwebs out of his head. For everybody else, L only needed to use a fraction of his genius to outsmart them, but Light was a new animal. He realized he'd have to actually plan ahead and think fast if he was ever going to outsmart the Shinigami.

L placed the Death Note down on the empty seat next to him, and let his other hand grasp the doughnut. Light wanted him to ask. There was no way he'd give the Death God the satisfaction. L looked to his side to find Light staring at him, a dull look in his eyes. It almost seemed like the Shinigami was disappointed.

"Ryu- I mean, Lawliet, you can stop treating me like an enemy. We're on the same side, I'm here to help you," Light reasoned. "All you have to do is ask." L didn't believe that for a second, but decided that it wasn't worth the trouble.

_Light: one… Lawliet: zero, _he thought venomously. _I swear, once I get some sleep, that score will change. I refuse to be manipulated like a fool._

"Can you say something in Japanese?" L asked begrudgingly. He understood why it was so painful, but not why it left such a bitter taste in his mouth. Light nodded briefly before saying,

"**I'm not your enemy, I'm your friend." **

Despite himself, L found himself smiling. Even Light found this odd, lifting one eyebrow at the unusual facial expression.

"I understand," L continued to smile. He understood Japanese. This was worth the bitter taste in his mouth for bending so easily to Light's request. The possibility he worked on the Kira case was raised up to 35 percent, still failing but now safely possible.

"Well, sure you understand. Can I have my doughnut now?" the Shinigami asked, scooting closer to L, brown eyes trained hungrily on the pastry. That was odd. Light knew he'd understand, but then the Death God also had an annoying habit of confusing L with his friend, Ryuzaki. Deciding it was nothing, L found that his hunger had faded, and he handed the rest of the doughnut to Light, a pleasant feeling settling in the bottom of his stomach.

Light's handsome face lit up in surprise as he took the rest of the crawler. Apparently he hadn't been expecting L to give him all of it. A few seconds later, Light's look of surprise melted, and a smile quirked the corners of his lips. Soon after the smile, laughter erupted from the Death God, his bronze head tilting back, and his eyes closing tightly. His shoulders shook happily as the laughter escaped him, a large smile pasted to his face.

L merely watched him, his own smile fading at the seemingly random bought of laughter. What was so funny? He gave Light what was left of his doughnut, that was all. L felt a rush of irritation at the lack of logic. After a moment, Light's mad laughter died away to chuckles and he gasped, wiping his eyes with one finger.

"I…I'm…s…sor…sor..ry!" Light gasped, still trying to hold back laughter. "It…It's…j…jus…just… so weird!" L only stared at him, anything but an amused expression on his face.

"What, may I ask, is so weird?" Light took a few deep breaths, regaining a bit of control.

"You're so inconsistent," Light explained, holding back a rush of giggles. "One minute it's like I'm with Ryuzaki and the next, you're somebody completely different." L just blinked, not finding the humor. "The way I feel keeps changing too. I can't decide what to make of you! I like you. You and Ryuzaki are alike, but yet at the same time so different." Light's suppressed giggles died in his throat as he finally regained full self control. He put an embarrassed hand behind his head, the other still holding the doughnut. "Uh, sorry about that." L looked away from him, letting his dark eyes rest on a large apartment building across the empty street. Even the cars had stopped passing, which was odd for this part of the city, even so late.

"So you're saying that I have aspects of your friend, but am not him entirely," L said. "You find that humorous?" He heard Light take a hungry bite out of the doughnut along with the gurgle of his esophagus as he swallowed.

"I don't know, it's just that Ryuzaki was so cold, and yeah you're a bit untrusting, but you gave me the rest of the doughnut. That's something Ryuzaki would never do."

"I'm just not hungry anymore, so I gave you what I couldn't finish. Besides, it was part of our deal." L began to slide his thumb across his lips.

"You smiled." L halted the movement and faced the Shinigami, who was in the process of chewing his next bite.

"What's so strange about that?"

"Ryuzaki never smiled."

"Oh," was all L said as he studied Light. The Death God was very attractive, not even L could deny that, and he felt something jolt in his stomach like electricity as he continued his observation. Outside he remained cold and stoic, but taking in all of Light's beauty, he felt something comparable to butterflies flutter in his stomach. Light's wings only added to that allure, folding around his shoulders so it appeared he was wearing an elegant feathery coat. Something about that was familiar as well, but it was only a slight twinge, nothing really to look into. The feathers were a silky black, each perfectly sculpted, and catching the sheen of the overhanging streetlight, surrounding themselves with a sort of unnatural glow.

"You like my wings?" he heard Light ask.

L remained quiet, and shifted his gaze back to the drunk passed out on the other side of the street. Had he really just stared? The embarrassing truth was that he had. Light's wings were beautiful, but it wasn't just them. All of Light was flawless, even though it scared the hell out of him to admit it. L wondered if he was dealing with a male succubus rather than a Shinigami as strange sensations flowed through him. He didn't like it at all. L never felt these kinds of things before, and feeling them now, especially towards a different creature entirely, was wrong to say the least. The worst part was that Light caught him in the act of staring. Was it that he _wanted _Light in that way?

_Oh God, no! _he thought in disgust. He certainly didn't like Light very much, and just because he was beautiful didn't make him so on the inside. Light had proven there was a snake hidden underneath all that perfection. Just the idea of being attracted to Light was revolting. _Well, he certainly lives up to his name. Like a damn venus flytrap, that bastard. He's a demon. He's like a flame, if I fly in too close he'll kill me for sure. I'm better than that. I wont be bought by a pretty face. He's going to have to manipulate me the old fashioned way if at all. I wont roll over and take it. I'm nobody's puppet! _

Light seemed to take his silence as another form of 'piss off' and strangely enough, didn't press his previous question.

After that it was silence, L shutting his thoughts down before letting his forehead rest against the top of his knees. He heard the small chewing sounds as Light ravaged the doughnut, and the soft breeze of the June air. It was pleasantly warm, but the thoughts of the two rapists escaped the back of his mind, ruining the restfulness. George Monroe and Peter Shane's greasy faces assaulted his vision, causing him to abruptly open his eyes.

It wasn't so much that he killed them that made him uneasy, but the fact they had planned to rape a defenseless woman who had three children. In five years, never had he seen such monstrosity. He remembered the way they moved, the way they trailed their disgusting hands all over the poor woman who only wanted them to leave her alone. Was it too much to find someone willing to have intercourse rather than force themselves upon someone? L tensed slightly. It was hard to believe that the assault happened barely a half hour ago.

He remembered his own uselessness, the way he merely gaped in shock at what the men where doing. He remembered the way the woman sobbed, how hard she was struck. It was all so pointless, forcing an unwilling person to do something so private, so intimate. L knew the point however, was the power. It was the power to destroy someone by turning their own body against them, dirtying it, making the victim feel unclean and humiliated.

L knew that if it had been any other time, he would have just stood there before walking away. He wasn't the type to get into confrontation, especially if the result was physical harm. Thinking about it now made him sick, but he knew himself. He knew that if it weren't for Light, he would have pretended nothing happened. L would feel disgusted and terrible, yes, but in the end, his own safety was what mattered. That was what scared him, the fact he was so against crime, but if intervening proved too dangerous he'd let it happen. More of that strange feeling coursed through his veins, and he instantly tried to snuff it out, though with little avail.

Light stopped him though. L contemplated writing in the Death Note, but had decided against it. Light was the one who changed his mind, and Light was the one who comforted him when it was over. He told L what he needed to hear: that he did the right thing, that it was what a normal human being would do. He even threw in the jail statistic, letting L's confused and frightened mind grasp on to something it knew well. Light seemed to know what made him tick, and though so far it had been annoying and unsettling, he figured it might also be nice to have someone understand him. L knew from his previous analysis it was all for Light's benefit and that the Shinigami was a demon in disguise, but he couldn't help but feel a rush of gratitude along with the awkward feelings he was failing to kill.

"Thank you," L said to his knees before he was able to stop himself. He shifted uneasily as Light stopped chewing, but continued anyway. "For helping me back there."

"You're welcome," Light replied quietly. L turned his head to find Light staring at the minuscule remains of the doughnut, a gentle smile on his face.

Instantly regretting his small outburst, L continued,

"Now, don't think I'm a fool, because I know that it was for your own agenda. You need me to write names since you've made it clear you die if you protect humans." Light sighed deeply and met L's dark gaze.

"Now you're back to being like Ryuzaki, saying something nice, then ruining it." L frowned.

"It's true though, you need me, that's all."

"Why are you so determined to treat me like an enemy?" Light asked, his tone frustrated.

"I stated why not too long ago," L said, venom rising. "Did you know it's a popular torture method in some countries to deprive a prisoner of sleep?"

"I don't want to fight," Light said. "Look Lawliet, I only did that so you'd agree to get rid of waste like those two men. Now that you've pledged your allegiance, I really just want you to trust me."

"Trust is something you earn, Light," L said.

"I told you your name," Light reasoned.

"How do I know you aren't lying?"

"You seem to believe me."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Light groaned.

"You're a stubborn ass, you know that?"

"Better to be stubborn than to have someone claiming to be a friend stab you in the back down the road," L said. He watched as Light took another large bite out of the doughnut, eyes closed out of exasperation and annoyance. Something about that last statement must have hit a nerve. L kept it in mind for later.

"Well, I have no reason to lie," Light pointed out, roughly swallowing. "And it was part of our previous deal. You write a name before your mandatory thirteen days and I give you your real name."

"Yes, I am aware of our arrangement," L said in his usual monotone, thumb again sliding across his lower lip. "But that was a deal, not an act of trust."

"I could have just as easily gone back on my word," Light pointed out, tossing the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. L didn't answer, suddenly not up to arguing. Instead, he put his head back down on his knees, and closed his weary eyes. For awhile, all was quiet again and L contemplated falling asleep right on the bench. The air was pleasant, and it was nice and dark. Why not fall asleep? All that mattered was that he'd simply walk back to Hawley-Smoot once morning came.

"Ryuza- I mean, Lawliet?" Light's questioning tone interrupted the drifting of L's consciousness.

"What is it?" L mumbled into his chest, heavy eyelids still closed.

"Who is Mello?" L cursed inside his head. Why did he have to say the boy's name out loud?

"I don't really know," he admitted. "All I know is that he was someone from my past, but other than that, your guess is as good as mine."

"What exactly about your past do you remember?" Light asked. L became suspicious about the Death God's sudden interest in his memories. He didn't want to tell anything about what he recalled, and he definitely didn't want to tell the Death God about BB, or that he might have worked on the past Kira case.

"Basically what I wrote in the Death Note," he answered. "I seem to get blurry images if I'm reminded of someone, but other than that my history is a blank."

"So you remembered someone named Mello when you looked at the chocolate doughnuts?"

"He must have liked chocolate, which would explain a lot." L tilted his neck backwards until it popped. "Chocolate always made me feel nostalgic in a way, but it wasn't until tonight that I remembered his name. To tell the truth, I wasn't sure what 'Mello' meant when I first said it. I'm still not entirely sure if it's his name or not, but it's better than leaving him nameless. Besides, I'm 95 percent sure that he's dead."

"Is that all?" Light looked at him with guarded eyes, his voice flat. The Shinigami was studying him thoroughly, (that much L was able to gather) contemplating whether or not he was hiding any information. L practically saw the gears churning behind that deep brown gaze. The Death God's eyes were like divergent mirrors, twisting L's reflection from behind the curtain of perfect auburn hair that fell lightly across his forehead.

L kept his gaze impassive, but inside he was slightly panicking. So far Light had proven he was able to read L like a neon sign, but L was determined to shut the Death God out. His very survival depended on it. Who knew what Light was capable of if he found out that his second Kira was once not only a supporter of L, but one of the investigators that tracked Kira down?

"Not that it's any of your concern, but yes, that's all," L confirmed, his voice even. "Why the sudden interest?" Light stared at him for a moment, still trying to read L's face with his glassy brown eyes.

"I just thought that since you and I are going to be working together for awhile, we might get to know each other." L seriously doubted that, but decided to play along. He was simply relieved that he was able to hide the truth.

"Well, you know all I know about myself, what about you?" At this, Light's solemn appearance brightened, and he grinned.

"Well, I was born and raised in Tokyo, Japan and I was top of my class," he bragged. L rolled his eyes briefly.

"Hobbies?" he asked. It was best to keep Light distracted from the issue of L's memories.

"I was the best tennis player in my school," Light said. "I won the championship five times running."

"Impressive," L stated. "I can't say I've ever played."

"Really?" Light asked in disbelief. "You seem like someone who'd be good at it. You have the arm span and you're fast on your feet. You sure you haven't played at least once?"

L shook his head.

"I'll have to teach you sometime," Light decided.

"I'm sure a floating tennis racket will go over lovely with the spectators," L said.

"I meant privately," Light reasoned. "Think of it as male bonding."

"Male bonding," L repeated. Somehow the words sounded funny to him, especially coming out of the Shinigami's mouth. "I was under the impression that this was simply a relationship based on the assumption that I write and you don't take what's left of my sanity."

"I don't see why we can't enjoy our unintentional connection," Light grinned. "Anyway, anymore questions about yours truly?" L stared for a moment, trying his best to read Light. The Death God seemed to not only be telling the truth, but eager to share the unimportant tidbits of his past life. The distraction was definitely working.

"Family?" At this, Light seemed to brighten further.

"Well, I had a mother, who was the stereotypical housewife, a father who was the police chief-"

"You're father was the police chief in Japan?" L interrupted. "Is there any chance that he might be a threat?" A pained expression dripped onto Light's face, his eyes narrowing and his mouth going taunt as if someone had just stung him.

"No, he's not a threat," Light murmured quietly, his gaze downcast. There was only one reason why Light looked so sad.

"Sorry," L offered, gaze directed at his ratty tennis shoes.

"Don't." Light's smile returned, and he waved a hand as if to brush the matter away. "It was a long time ago, and he died doing what he thought was right."

"I see," he said simply. "I apologize for interrupting, continue."

"Well," the Death God shifted his gaze to the dark sky. "I had a little sister."

"Sounds cute, what's her name?"

"Her name was…" Light trailed off, fingers toying with the little silver cross dangling down his neck. "Her name." The Shinigami's brows furrowed together, as if trying to recall. L only waited patently, knowing that saying anything would only frustrate Light. "Her name," Light's fingers tightened around the necklace. "I know it," he insisted, his brown eyes widening into a look of anxiety.

L put his thumb to his lips, watching quietly, knowing that speaking wasn't what Light wanted him to do.

"I remember everything else," Light said. "I knew her name not too long ago, but I…I can't remember." Light let out an agitated sigh. "It probably just slipped my mind that's all." He was trying to justify the memory loss, but L knew just from the way Light's body hunched and stiffened that something was wrong. Even Light's eyes were unsettled.

L didn't respond, only observed as Light continued to play with the cross. L concluded that the thin necklace gave Light's fingers something to fiddle with when he was agitated or thinking. He'd have to look for the sign now whenever he tried to read the Shinigami.

"She and I weren't very close," he spoke, still justifying.

"Didn't see each other much?" L asked.

"I was always studying," Light said, eyes staring at the ground. A crueler part of L longed to contradict the Shinigami. That part wanted to ask question after question until Light's walls were down, and he was faced with the reality that he didn't remember. Just this simple fact was a small weakness in the Death God's armor. Just a few more questions would strip Light of his arrogance, replacing it with the all too human anger and denial that L had only witnessed when they first met. He wanted to dig his fingers into that tiny hole and rip it open.

L wanted to make Light admit he wasn't perfect and put his furious denial and the raw emotions that came with it on display. Light had been toying with him since the moment they met and he ran circles around L's intellect like a nippy sheepdog. That in itself made the stubborn part of L furious, for he wasn't used to being challenged by anybody. How he longed to extort this simple weakness he was presented with, and finally be able to prance nimbly around Light, stabbing at the heels of his impenetrable thoughts.

He was intelligent enough not to indulge in that side, however, reminding himself again that Light had the power to kill him, even if he needed L to continue Kira's work. Besides, in a way, L actually felt he had something in common with Light. So far the Death God proved unreadable and (other than when L pretended to pity him) inhuman. This small screw up in the Shinigami's ever efficient thought process suddenly made Light more of a person to L. The Death God's seemingly flawless mind forgot a name Light grew up with. It should have been something he knew off the top of his head, regardless of how close he and his sister were or how much he studied.

He understood though. He understood how frustrating it was to lose memories. L often thought he was the most efficient thinker around. In rare moments, he even thought he was better than most people until he tried to access his past. That was what made him so imperfect, and often caused him lose faith in himself. He always felt humbled after being reminded that everyone else knew who they were. Light just received a slap in the face from his own genius and L knew exactly how that felt. Before he could stop himself, he gave the Death God a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Light looked up in surprise, and L felt a twinge of something odd. He never reached out to anybody physically or emotionally…_ever. _People repelled him with their predictable boring behavior and ever so shallow motives. L never wanted to reach out to them, and thankfully none of them seemed very eager to reach out to him. He enjoyed his self-isolation. So why did he just present someone he had come to strongly dislike with both forms of contact, no matter how small the gesture?

"So inconsistent," Light murmured.

"I understand," L said, taking his hand away. "That's all."

"I suppose you would," Light murmured to himself. "I like this side of you."

"It's not a side, just empathy."

"I have a feeling that as soon as you let go of this misplaced distrust, we'll make for a very promising team," Light stated. "Soon you'll see that I'm the most valuable aspect you have."

"I'm sure you are. Good luck with that," L said, turning away from him completely.

"I'm not a bad guy," Light reasoned. "I'm not sure why you seem to think otherwise."

"I refuse to answer the same question twice."

"I think you and I just got off on the wrong foot," the Shinigami explained. "Let's start over. Hello, my name is Light."

"Please do not condescend me," L warned.

"Touchy aren't we?"

"Nothing can take back the past, and your childish way of doing so is only irritating."

"Resentful also," Light observed. L felt his annoyance level rise.

"Just…" he began loudly, then quieted himself. "Stop talking."

"Okay," Light shrugged. "Prone to violent mood swings too." The silence that followed the statement contained enough poison to kill an entire country. "Fine, for your sake, I'll stop pestering you for tonight."

"That's all I ask." L felt the exhaustion wash over him, and he resisted the urge to yawn. God, he was so damn tired. L was surprised he wasn't wandering the streets like some drunken loon.

"You look beat," Light spoke up. "Maybe you should start walking."

"It's your handy work," L reminded bitterly.

"Will you stop acting like I'm your worst enemy if I said I was sorry?"

"Possibility only in the seven percent range," L reported, his face buried back in his knees.

"I'm sorry," the Death God apologized. L sighed, his annoyance fading into nothing but tiredness.

"I said it was only a seven percent chance," L reminded.

"I heard you," Light responded. "But hey, seven percent is still a chance right?"

He didn't bother to answer.

L knew that a part of him wanted to believe Light, and coupled with these disturbing feelings he was now blaming on Light's supernatural appearance, he had _yet another_ feeling that he was starting to get way too close to the flame. L still didn't trust the Death God entirely, and doubted he ever would, but the irrational side of him that screamed for a change in the boring life he was leading wanted to take Light's word and use the Death Note. His brain, that was starving for challenge, knew that once L the detective caught wind of a new Kira, the ultimate game would begin. That was why he knew that he was doomed. He'd get drunk off the power and lose himself inside the games he and L the detective were to play.

'_Power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely,' _he reminded himself.

Wordlessly, L lifted himself off the bench, and began his walk back to the homeless shelter. One hand deep in his jean pocket, and the other grasping what he knew was the ultimate weapon. Light floated next to him, eyes trained straight ahead, the air around him heavier than before. L knew Light had just realized something, and whatever it was, was changing him.

"By the way, Lawliet," Light said, his tone once again flat and emotionless. His brown eyes were hooded as he gazed down the street, shoulders hunched. L kept a wary eye on him, the tension between them rising. "I believe you when you say you don't remember anything else about Mello and I just revealed to you a weakness which I'm sure you've picked up on," he paused to look at his companion. Light's face was far too perfect, his skin a porcelain white and smooth as marble like that of a doll.

"I'm aware," L said, his own eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"That was an act of trust," Light's former serpentine smile slithered onto his lips. Then, as soon as it appeared, the smile vanished and the Shinigami's face was once again blank and unreadable.

_Translation, _L thought, eyes still trained on the Death God. _Your distraction didn't work, so don't make me regret it. _

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The many television sets that lined the single wall all blared at the same time, their screens illuminating the otherwise dark room. The voices of the people inside droned together in what a normal human being might call a racket. Most of the channels were turned to the news, attractive reporters and their microphones telling of gruesome murders or car theft, but one channel added a dose of laughter to the televisions' otherwise gloomy buzz. An old black and white sitcom was playing across the lonely optimistic screen.

It was this screen that the small hunched figure in the middle of the room had his hearing focused on. Near's somber gray gaze however, was trained on the elaborate tower of dice he was building. To him, the wordless mumble of the televisions were each individual lines of words that his brilliant mind was able to pick apart in seconds.

His fingers gripped another pair of dice, and placed them on top of his last installment to the tower. It now surrounded him, blocking him off from the rest of the world for a short time. The old sitcom made a joke, and the automated laughter once again joined the dreary reports of the various news stations. Near had shortly blocked them out since none promised an interesting case, and was now listening intently to, _I Love Lucy._

Near always found mild amusement in Lucy's antics as she struggled to become famous, dragging her best friend Ethel along for the ride. It was the only show other than the news that he watched, and the only one actually enjoyed. He always made sure it was playing when he was searching for a new case. It was a monotony breaker, a small dose of the normal life Near never had.

He liked the simplicity of Lucy's motives, that there was no need to look deep into her character, or possibly find what made her tick. It was nice to simply watch and go along with the show. Near never laughed at her follies, and he never smiled at the jokes, but the sitcom was his way of dealing with the impossible amount of crime he witnessed everyday. The thing he worked for his entire childhood, to become the next L, was enough to make any grown man insane. Yet here he was, just turned twenty years old, solving cases that most people twice his age were unable to handle.

That was why he detached himself from everyone around him so efficiently, but sometimes that wasn't even enough. He had seen murder scenes that not even the most gruesome horror movies compared to, and other such crimes that normal people vomited at. It never got to the point where he broke down, but a few times he had asked, in his soft emotionless voice, that the monitors be turned off for awhile. Emotions only killed someone in his line of work, so he stared down the evils of mankind, just like the first L had done, with a blank face and a stone heart.

He placed a few more dice on the tower, building up the right wall. After that, he merely sat, one knee curled to his chest, while his fingers toyed with a strand of curly white hair. Near's habit of building structures around himself proved problematic. It was always a challenge never to knock over his hard work when he was finished, so like always, he stayed sitting and turned his blank stare to the televisions.

Lucy was currently trying to lose five pounds in one night so she'd be able to get a part in a dance production of the song, _Cuban Pete. _Lucy was created in a simpler time, which Near figured was part of her charm. She was a fun character to watch, causing her husband, Ricky grief and getting herself into trouble. Near continued to play with his hair, fingers twiddling purposely around the single strand and his dull gray eyes locked on the screen.

This was not to say he wasn't aware of what the news was reporting, for just as Lucy got the part, something caught his ear. Honing in on the television on the top right corner, Near's eyes narrowed, the flickering light's casting dark shadows across his white skin. It was a British network, a male and a female anchor sitting behind an oval shaped desk.

"Just in, on Channel 16 News, two men were found dead in Nottingham, England today," the anchor woman announced. "They were identified as ex-convicts, Peter Shane and George Monroe, who were both charged two years ago for the rapes of three young women. The men were let out of prison recently on parole."

Two mug shots of the men were displayed, and Near found both to be ugly, the normal look for a convict. Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he listened intently as the woman continued,

"The most startling fact however, is that autopsy reports indicate that both Shane and Monroe died suddenly of heart attacks. Many say that this is a sign of a new Kira, and many investigators worry this might be the case. It is still too early to tell if the Japanese government will issue a statement about the probability of another Kira, but in the mean time Channel 16 has found someone who might offer us insight on this most disturbing case. A woman by the name of Mandy Kelly claims the men were attacking her, when she heard a man's voice yell for them to stop. We'll have the first interview with her tonight at eleven, on Channel 16 News."

"Makes you wonder doesn't it, Sarah?" the male anchor asked.

"Sure does Jim," she responded.

Near's gaze flickered away from the television. It wasn't long until the rest of the news stations from around the world caught up, and were reporting 'the possible new Kira.' Something interesting had popped up after all. It was barely half a year since Light Yagami was found in Japan, and now there was a chance another Death Note had been dropped.

Still, he was reluctant to take the case. He still didn't know all the details, and not even the vague news reports knew for sure if it was another Kira. Near let his vision drop to his bare feet, where a black cell phone lay untouched. Getting involved with another Kira might prove too dangerous, even for him. It was the same case that had killed the first L, Matt, and Mello.

Still, Light Yagami had been one in a million, a genius that rivaled L himself. Near concluded that it was only a two percent chance that whoever had the Death Note now had the same intelligence as Light Yagami, but was still wary. Near wasn't one to jump headfirst into anything without all the information. He twiddled with his hair for a minute, thinking carefully about what he was going to do. It was either wait for more people to die, or take the initiative.

Making his decision, he removed his fingers from his nest of curly white hair, and took the cell phone between thumb and forefinger. Flipping the device open, he pressed a few buttons before putting the phone to his ear. After two rings there was a click as the person on the other end answered.

"Hello, this is L," he said. On the other end his voice came out filtered and robotic. "I need to interview a witness in regards to a possible Kira." He waited for a moment. "A woman by the name of Mandy Kelly. Her residence should be in Nottingham, England. Find her quickly, cancel all other interviews she might have with the press, and bring her to the local police station." Near let his fingers trail back into his hair as he waited for the person on the other end to catch up. "Very well, inform me when she arrives and set up a laptop connection." He hung up without saying goodbye, his eyes narrowed as he returned to, _I Love Lucy. _He had made the first move, now it was time to see how well this Kira performed in what was to be an interesting game.

* * *

So Near makes his first appearance and he's watching 'I Love Lucy.' -_- I'm stuck in the past really I am. So I hope you enjoyed and it wasn't too boring constructive critisicm and good reviews make my day. Really let me know how I did. I'm really concerned about how OOC they may appear, but then one must keep in mind that L doesn't remember who he is, and Light the butt munch is just acting, sooo yeah. Really let me know what you think! thanks for reading.


	6. Birth by Sleep

Hello everybody, Angel is back and I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH you guys really make me want to write with all these reviews. Apparently this story is a lot like a doujin called "God's Eye" though I have never seen it before until **Racharae** sent me the link. I was floored by it! it had beautiful artwork and made me cry. Check it out if you ever get the chance. Light's a little more depressed and the entire thing is a lot more mellow, but the similarities between this and that is astounding.

**Thanks to Amanda Saitou for betaing **

Oh, and really important question, who is Near's new Watari? I think it's Commander Rester, but please correct me if I'm wrong but I need to know for sure before I post the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note (face of sad)**

* * *

L stood before the alleyway where Peter Shane and George Monroe were doing the unthinkable. The woman lay beneath them in a pile of sopping newspapers, screaming as they ruined her. It felt as if he were a Shinigami, unable to be seen or heard. His entire body was frozen, even his eyelids refused to close against the horrific sight before him. The noises were awful, the grunts and pants mixing with the screams, but he was unable to cover his ears against them.

The men finished, zipping up their pants and talking to one another. Their voices however, were muffled and garbled. The woman lay crying on the ground, her clothes torn, eyes closed as tears leaked down her battered face. The two men turned, and wandered out of the alley, passing by L as if he were invisible. L didn't bother to try and look at them, for his gaze was locked on the trembling woman.

She had curled into herself, still crying. L wanted nothing more than to back away and forget what he saw. He wanted to alert the police, and then have them take care of her. What he witnessed was absolutely disgusting, and his stomach did flip flops at the images. In his head, the awful noise of the men having their way with her echoed.

After awhile, her chocked sobs died away and she began to grunt, rolling onto her stomach, her exposed chest pressing against the concrete. L was held still by an unknown force as the woman slowly brought her hands under herself, pushing her body upwards. L still was unable to move as the woman's eyes opened revealing deep red holes. L wanted to scream as she stood awkwardly, knees bent inward, her blood-red gaze upon him accusingly.

The entire front of her shirt was torn, and blood seeped from beneath her tattered skirt, down her bruised thighs. Her hair fell in tangles around her shoulders. One hand reached out to him, and she stumbled forward like a zombie, stiff jointed and rigid. Her lips peeled back from her teeth, and she snarled.

"You could have stopped this!" she hissed, taking another step forward. Whatever was holding L down lifted, and he staggered backwards away from her until his back hit something solid. With horror he realized that he was in the back of the alley, and he had run into a dead end. The street seemed so far away, framed between two buildings. His heart began to patter violently and fear coursed through his veins.

The woman continued to stagger closer, her demonic eyes never releasing him from their terrible gaze. L looked desperately around the alley and found there to be significant space for him to run around her. Though she was small, there was something about her that told him running into her was like running into a rapid dog.

"You could have stopped this!" she repeated, but with far more scorn. L's black eyes darted to her left, the illuminated street shining behind her as means of escape. He braced himself as she hobbled closer, the heels of her black shoes clacking against the pavement. The toe of her shoe hit an empty can, and L flinched away from it as if it were a bomb when it came to a stop directly in front of him.

The woman let out a yowl as she stumbled, nearly losing her balance completely. He watched with disgust as the blood dripped even lower, a few drops splattering the damp pavement. She managed to catch herself, hands still reaching towards him, her long nails reminding him of talons. L's window for escape was closing fast, but just as he was about to run, more figures appeared from outside the alley, pouring in like water.

With a new found terror he realized that they were more red-eyed women, their clothes all torn and ragged, with that awful blood seeping down their legs. They hobbled behind the first woman, all of them staring him down accusingly, their hands reaching for him. Many had bitten nails, while others were long and similar to the first woman. Hundreds of them blocked the steaming alley, and L found with growing panic that he was no longer able to see the street over their heads.

"You could have saved us!" they all shouted in unison. L's terrified gaze darted from one battered face to the other. He felt like a cornered animal, and his heart pounded fearfully in his ears. Sweat began to pour down his face as the women stared him down hatefully. L instinctively flattened himself against the wall as they all advanced.

They each took a deliberate step forward, their shoes making one loud clack. L flinched further backwards, his breathing becoming harsher as they approached. Everyone in the crowd was female, ranging from little girls to grown women. They all looked beaten, while some were completely nude and partially decomposed, suggesting they were murdered.

"You could have stopped all of our pain!" they all shouted together. L wanted to yell back, to tell them all to leave him alone, that he was sorry for what happened to them, but his voice was lost and he was reduced to focus on his breathing, trying to stop himself from running into their midst just to get whatever was coming over with. He should have bolted when the first woman was still struggling to her feet, but he remembered the force that held him. There was nothing he could do but wait for the she-devils to fall upon him.

L backed himself into the corner of the alley, his body now bracing itself to panic as adrenaline coursed though him, his heart on rapid fire. He brought his hands to his mouth, the classic human gesture of relieving anxiety and creating a feeble shield against the threat. His eyes were as wide as saucers, the dark circles under his eyes deepening into thick wrinkles.

The first woman reached out, and clasped her hand around his wrist, yanking him to the ground with inhuman strength. He fell to the damp pavement on his hands and knees, but was shortly turned upwards by a dozen pairs of hands so that he faced the night sky. Briefly, thousands of stars shown down on him until the women descended upon him in an angry accusing wave.

The women let out a shriek, and sunk their nails into him, tearing the white shirt off his torso, and digging into his chest. L finally found his voice and it ripped out of his throat as he screamed with the pain. Blood splattered the women's deranged faces as they peeled the flesh of his bones, their high-pitched yowls joining his desperate screams of agony and terror.

L felt his skin rip under the hundreds of gouging nails, and his body twisted as it attempted to struggle away. Their hands were like bear traps, immovable and strong enough to break bones. Several pairs of hands gripped his ankles and wrists, preventing him from curling into the instinctive fetal position. All he could do was scream in the horrible agony, as more women sank their hands into his stomach, pulling out his insides right before his eyes. He felt vomit rise in his throat, and it exploded from his mouth, nearly drowning him as it fell back on his face.

However, it wasn't vomit, but blood. L tasted the metallic liquid as it splattered his cheeks and forehead. More of the red liquid spurted from his throat and ran down his neck and chin. L felt his own tears join the mix, but the women refused to show him any mercy.

"This is our pain!" they shouted. "You had the power to save us from it!"

"No!" was all L was able to shriek through his blood and terror. He managed to twist his head away from the star spangled sky in time to see one of the little girls stumble through the masses of twisting bruised bodies. Her piercing red gaze was locked with his hands and twitching fingers. Remains of rotted food clung to the strands of wet blond hair. Her lacy dress was torn completely down the front and hung off her small body in rags.

"You could have stopped the bad man!" she yelled before opening her mouth and biting down hard on one of his fingers. More pain coursed up his arm as her little teeth crunched through muscle and bone. The sight almost made him pass out completely, but something was keeping him conscious, preventing him from even closing his eyes.

His throat felt raw from the screaming and amounts of blood he was still vomiting up. He wondered how he was still alive and why he hadn't passed out from the pain yet. L tuned his head to the sky again, his screams strengthening into shrill shrieks. He was being disemboweled before his own eyes.

A few seconds passed, and the pain still crashed through him in giant waves, but L had retreated to his mind, thinking deeply through the hollering and bellowing of the countless rape victims torturing him. He needed his Death Note. The reason he was unable to save them was because he was unable to write the names of their attackers. Because of this, he had also dammed himself to their rage and pain. It was obvious now why they blamed him. L had the power to save them, but because of his own morals, he subjected every woman who was currently destroying him to a hell he never wanted to know. Seconds dragged for hours, and just when L gave up all fight, a familiar pair of brown eyes appeared, staring down at him.

Light was hovering just out of reach of the women's jagged nails, his black wings spread wide against the stars. The Death God looked down on him with such sadness, one hand held outward towards the dying man below him. L felt a newfound strength flow through him, and he managed to rip one arm away from the group of women in attempts to grab Light's outstretched palm.

Tattered and bloody remains of his sleeve clung to the torn flesh of his arm, and he noticed his thumb and forefinger were missing. That didn't matter though. All that mattered was that he grabbed Light's hand. The demon women all turned their gazes upwards and hissed at the intruder. To L's terror, they turned their actions on his face, pushing L down onto the pavement, pulling out his hair and scratching at his eyes.

L stubbornly kept his arm extended, praying for Light to grab it, but the Shinigami merely stayed where he was, palm out to L, brown eyes deep with sorrow. L felt more nails dig into his eye sockets, twisting around inside his skull, until was blinded. Panic once again rose in him, and he managed to make his terrified screams audible.

"Light!" he called desperately through the scratching shredding hands. "Light!" he yelled the Shinigami's name over and over, but his hand remained empty. He was unable to see, but his hearing was still intact. All around him were the accusing screams of the women, their hands ripping him limb from limb.

"You deserve this!" they bellowed. "You could have saved us, but did nothing!"

"You let the bad man touch us!" the little girls shouted.

"LIGHT!" L tried again, his voice hoarse. The pain was too much. He should have been dead by now, but even death refused to show him mercy. His back was flat against the damp pavement, as whatever was left of him was scratched, kicked, and beaten. Suddenly, through the women's demonic fury a voice called out to him, and he felt a different pair of hands grab his shoulders. They weren't the crushing bear trap hold of the women, but firm enough to hold him against all his struggling.

"Ryuzaki!" Light's voice called. "Ryu- Lawliet, wake up!"

L realized he had legs again, and brought them under himself, body still twisting wildly despite the only hands he felt now were Light's. The concrete below him turned into something lumpy yet soft, but the sudden change did nothing to stop his erratic heartbeat and pulsating terror.

His eyes shot open, and he spotted Light's face over him, his sad expression now a look of worry and a bit of fear. L was in touch with his entire body by now and pushed himself up, breaking Light's hold on him. Without thinking, he threw his arms around the Shinigami's neck and embraced him, their two bodies colliding hard enough to make Light grunt and jerk backwards from L's weight.

L clung to him desperately, his long fingers gripping the back of Light's black shirt. He still heard the women's screams in his head, and he trembled from where the nails raked his body. L hung on to Light as if he were dangling over the edge of a cliff. He tried to calm himself, knowing if he kept up this gasping he'd push himself into hyperventilation, but his body refused to listen, and his mind was still lost in the dream.

He didn't notice Light stiffen beneath his trembling grasp, all he realized was that the clawing hands had stopped. However, his skin still stung from the ragged scrapes and beatings. This only made him cling to Light even harder, knowing that the Death God represented salvation.

Through the crippling terror, L felt something press on either side of his face. Still sweating and breathing as if he had just run a marathon, he slowly figured out that the Death God had his face cradled his hands. However, despite Light's harsh attitude, they were gentle, unlike the cold clammy hands of the women. They softly began to push him backwards, and at first L's body rebelled, his arms squeezing the Death God harder, but with their persistence, he allowed his arms to loosen, though not let go.

L was pushed back until he was able to see Light's face in the evening sun that filtered through the single window in his tiny room. The rays of light brought out the glossiness of the Shinigami's auburn hair and the way it fell softly against his porcelain cheeks. Light's brown eyes were wide with alarm, as L continued to gasp like a fish out of water, dark eyes practically bulging out of his skull. Despite the new surroundings, L's brain still refused to fully come out of the terrifying nightmare. His chest was still moving rapidly and his lungs burned with the over supply of air it was receiving.

"Hey, Lawliet, calm down!" Light exclaimed, his cool hands still resting on ether side of L's face. L's spidery fingers twisted against the fabric of the Death God's black sleeves, seemingly growing a mind of their own.

"Don…don't… kill me!" L gasped, chest exploding with adrenaline, his body pushing against the Death God's restraint.

Suddenly, one of Light's hands drew away from his face, only to be brought back to his cheek in a sharp slap. The entire left side of L's face erupted in pain, and the impact was so hard, he tumbled sideways off the bed and landed on his side. He yelped as his shoulder twisted in its socket, the pain fully bringing him back to reality.

After a moment of bewildered blinking, L attempted to pick himself off the floor, only to realize his legs were hopelessly tangled in the sheets of the bed. He groaned, dark eyebrows furrowed together as his hand rubbed his cheek gingerly. Knowing the horror he just experienced was only a dream, the weight that seemed to be crushing him only seconds before lifted in what could only be described as relief.

"That really hurt," he commented, black eyes staring up at the ceiling, his body unwilling to move. Light peered from on top of the bed, head tilted to the side, observing L's position on the floor.

"You were going to hyperventilate," he stated. "You attacked me and started gasping for air. I was freaked out, okay?" L didn't answer, his mind going back to the clawing women and the little girl in the ruined lacy dress. He lifted the hand she attacked and let his eyes close in relief when he saw he still had all of his fingers.

"You were screaming my name," Light said from his place on the bed. L opened his eyes and was surprised to find the Death God crouching above him, a crude half-smile on his face. "Were you having naughty dreams about me?" L's eyes narrowed, and he felt disgust settle in the pit of his stomach like a viper.

"Your arrogance is sickening," he spat. Light's smirk faltered and he rolled his eyes.

"You sure are sunshine and giggles. It was just a joke."

"Regardless," L muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"So what was the dream about?" Light asked. L sighed, and gently brought his legs under him. His kneecaps gave off a few dry pops of protest, as he straitened up as much as he could before heading over to the mirror. L almost groaned at the sight that greeted him from the glass. His black hair was wild and clumped together in sweaty chunks, the dark circles under his eyes seemed to have grown even darker, and his skin was sickeningly pale with a slightly yellowish tinge. His weight had gotten worse since Mrs. Snow was no longer alive to provide him with sweets, and he knew he was prepared to starve to death rather than eat the slop in the cafeteria. Worst of all, there was a large red handprint stamped across his cheek for all the world to see. _I look like a starving rat. _

"Did you have to hit me so hard?" he asked, letting the tips of his fingers gingerly brush the reddened flesh, teeth gritting against the horrid sting.

"I asked you a question first," Light said, walking up to stand at L's side.

L didn't bother to acknowledge the barb as he thought of the little girl again. She had been so young, only seven or eight years old at the most. L's dark eyes drifted down to the hand where she had bitten his fingers off, and clenched it softly, relishing the way the muscles worked with the bone to allow such a movement. The memory of the child's teeth penetrating the workmanship of it, crunching and ripping the delicate threads of flesh, made it pulse slightly in pain.

However, he wasn't angry at the little girl. He didn't feel resentment or hatred for any of the women. He only felt fear and sorrow. L had been terrified of the victims, writhing their way towards him like monsters out of a horror film, but he also felt sorrowful for what they'd gone through to become those monsters. Every woman and little girl there had been raped. They never got justice or justice wasn't able to save them. L turned his head to the desk where he had dropped the Death Note a few hours before. "I just realized something," L stated, black eyes trained on the notebook.

Light kept quiet, only watched curiously as the thin man turned away from his reflection and picked up the Death Note. L knew the little girl from somewhere. He had seen her face before on television and on various fliers. However, in her pictures, instead of glowering red eyes and stringy wet hair clumped with garbage, she'd been perfectly groomed, blond hair tied back into identical pigtails and a smile on her face.

She had gone missing only a few weeks ago and was found dead, raped, and beaten in a dumpster in some back alley. She was eight years old and her name had been Elizabeth Coal. Her death had been a tragedy to the city, many appalled that such an innocent soul was taken in such a brutal and monstrous way. The lead suspect was Brandon Goodwall, boyfriend of the child's mother.

L remembered the story perfectly, for the news reported radicals causing riots over the loss of Kira when the little girl was found. He recalled Goodwall had dated the child's mother, but a few months into the relationship, little Elizabeth had revealed that Goodwall was molesting her. The mother had immediately thrown him out and was preparing to file charges, but was later found shot to death, the little girl missing from the home.

There was a sudden pain in L's chest and he rested a fist over it. Hearing it on the news was different than actually knowing the inside of it: the way Elizabeth Coal must have felt, the way her mother was brutally murdered, then finally the worst part. Seeing Peter Shane and George Monroe nearly do that to another woman gave him a glimpse into that horror. L could never know the true pain, since he himself had never been raped, but he possessed the ability to imagine and emphasize. L felt a little sick as he remembered Elizabeth's torn dress, the tattered lace exposing the horrible truth of what was done to her. His fingers tightened on the Death Note.

"It's about saving those who haven't been harmed," L whispered. "Stopping people who would do that to someone weaker than they are."

"So that's what your dream was about," Light murmured, a soft smile on his face. "It's hard to face the truth, especially when the reports about it are so blasé. They make it sound like a book, but you know better."

"I think I get it now," L realized. "You were right. I can't let people…" he trailed off, his mind drifting back to the Elizabeth Coal murder. The authorities knew Brandon Goodwall was hiding somewhere in the city, but he might have picked up an alias and planned to leave town. L's eyes narrowed as he remembered the perpetrator's face. He had been young and good looking, with greased back brown hair and bright green eyes, but under all the fake smiles and charm L knew lurked a demon. Grabbing a pen from the desk, he opened the Death Note. He'd make that man pay, make him suffer for what he put that girl through and maybe, just maybe…she'd forgive him.

The thought was strange, but it seemed accurate. All those women had been harmed. He had the power to stop those criminals for good, to stop them from ever repeating their crimes. A certain quote came to mind, and though the person who said it escaped him, the meaning was clear.

"_All evil needs to triumph is for good men to do nothing." _

L was a good man and for the longest time he had done nothing, but now everything changed. He knew a perfect world was impossible to achieve, but protecting all the possible victims was something he _was_ able to do. He wasn't sure if the dream would return, but maybe it's purpose was to show him the right path. Maybe all the women's accusations could be silenced if he found all their attackers and stopped them. For good.

"Are you actually writing?" Light gasped, unable to hide his shock when L's pen began to scribble across the page. "I mean, I know you agreed, but I didn't think you'd start right away without at least arguing some more."

"I have to write the cause of death right after the name, correct?" L asked, continuing after he finished writing the last 'L' in 'Goodwall.'

"Yes, but if you want specific details for the cause of death you have to write it in the next six minutes and forty seconds. It also has to be humanly possible or he'll just die of a heart attack," Light informed. L finished, an eerie calm settling over him as he closed the book. He felt as if a stone coffin had encased his heart. Running his hands through his hair to make it appear mildly presentable and tucking the Death Note under his arm, he turned to Light who was still watching him with nothing short of awe.

"What time is it?" L asked, his voice low and monotone.

"It's almost five o'clock," was Light's reply. "You were out pretty much all day." Without another word, L turned towards the door, walking purposely before turning the knob. "Where are you going?" the Shinigami asked. "You don't have to be at the bus station for another two and a half hours."

"Out," L responded, his voice quiet as he exited. One hand buried in his jean pocket, L didn't bother to lock the door behind him. Not surprisingly, Light followed him out into the hall.

"You know you're acting really strange," he commented. "I have a general idea, but what was that dream really about?"

L gave him the cold shoulder.

"I think you owe me an explanation," the Shinigami persisted.

"Why would that be?" he questioned apathetically.

"You were screaming my name, invaded my personal space when you woke up, and then you started gasping and sweating all over me."

"Why didn't you just make me fall through you then?"

"Because then you would have flopped around like a fish, possibly brained yourself on the headboard, and gasped until you _did _push yourself into hyperventilation." L sighed as he entered the main lounge, ignoring the mutterings of a few other residents as they spotted the large red handprint on his cheek. He briskly left through the front doors and walked down the cement pathway, his pace hurried. He had to get to his destination quickly if he was going to catch the action. "Are you going to answer me?" Light grumbled.

"I was somewhere really bad and you were watching me," L gave him a short explanation, unwilling to go into detail about his heinous disembowelment.

"I see," Light answered, obviously getting the gist of the reason why L had latched onto him like a drowning victim. "Did I help?" The Shinigami's question was asked in a sort of detached tone, almost like he was asking about what happened in a particular play he didn't really care about. L felt the urge to answer him anyway.

"No, you didn't."

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Light was surprised to find that L had led them to a nearby subway station, and it didn't take him long to figure out what L meant when he said he was going 'out.' Already he knew it was an act of suicide, there were security cameras everywhere, and one of them was bound to catch L.

"This is a really bad idea, Lawliet." Light voiced his anxiety, hovering a few inches above the ex-detective's head. "There are security cameras everywhere, they'll catch you."

L ignored him due to the rushing crowds of people waiting for the train, and positioned himself beneath the stairwell that led to the exit of the underground subway.

"Inbound train heading east arriving at six o'clock p.m." an automated female voice announced through the speakers wired in the ceiling. "We urge all guests to stay behind the yellow line."

L had carefully sneaked by security with little trouble, and was now watching the large analog clock that hung over the black tunnel. The subway was alive and bustling with chatter. People were on their cell phones, walking hurriedly, their shoes clacking against the cement platform. Light saw the heat rise off of them in waves, their names and numbers floating above their heads in a jumbled mass of red.

"You're playing a dangerous game. You can get killed for this, do you know that?" Light tried again, his eyes catching the lenses of several security cameras. "I never thought you'd be so stupid! Ryuzaki would have known better."

"What a shame, she's late," the ex-detective said, turning as if to look expectantly up the stairwell. "I hope I'm not in a blind spot or she might have missed me." Light gave him an odd look for a moment, before reanalyzing the positions of the cameras. L stood directly behind a large concrete pillar that seemed to support the ceiling, while three cameras were placed on the other side of the tracks. Looking up there was yet another camera overhead, but L had situated himself under it a little to the right so that he was out of its range, while the pillar blocked the three cameras on the other side.

Light hovered in front of the camera closest to them in order to study its mechanics, and found it was unable to move on its stand unlike the more high-tech ones he was used to dealing with. Light also noted that the ex-detective wasn't standing directly behind the pillar as he first assumed, but more to the left so that he was closer to the camera and able to see the tracks clearly, even through the crowds of people.

"I better relax or I'll be a wreck for our date." Light scoffed at the hidden statement. _Relax_. How could he? That was like placing him in a shark tank with a paper cut and telling him to _relax_. Still, it was interesting that L personally wanted to be there for the murder. This was a sadistic side to his former rival he had never truly witnessed before, especially since he was so against Kira. That dream must have been something really traumatizing to cause L to totally switch his views so suddenly. Worst of all was the ex-detective's reaction when he woke up. L nearly gave Light a heart attack of his own, grabbing him like that. It almost reminded him of Misa, although instead of undying devotion, it was full of panic and terror.

Well, the memory loss hadn't affected that part of his life. He remembered Misa perfectly, then again, Misa was hard to forget. To not remember his sister though, that was something that bothered him. He recalled her face perfectly, her brown hair and wide innocent eyes, but her name escaped him.

Maybe it was because he was really never that close to her. True, Light may have felt a detached care for the girl at one point, but something about her made him keep his distance. The fact was true with his entire family now that he thought about it.

It was an event that hadn't been anyone's fault, but Light found himself blaming his family for it anyway. His nameless sister definitely had nothing to do with it, but in the end, the entire reason for Light's emotional detachment rested squarely on her shoulders and she didn't even know it. He knew it wasn't fair to her or to his parents, but regardless, what happened caused him to be repelled from family life for good.

_"Raito, you have a new sister," Sachiko proclaimed proudly from the hospital bed, holding a small bundle in her arms. Her gentle brown eyes were on her three-year-old son, who was holding his father's hand, eyes wide with excitement. _

"_Really?" Light smiled joyously._

"_Yes, son, and it will be your job to protect her," Soichiro explained, leading Light to his mother's bedside. The baby's pudgy bright red face was visible through the white blankets that encased her tiny body. Her eyes were closed, but she made soft cooing sounds and moved her tiny fingers every so often, showing she was awake. _

"_You can hold her hand, just be gentle," Sachiko coaxed. Light looked at his father for a second sign of approval and was pleased when Soichiro gave a nod and a smile. Light reached out a tentative hand and grasped the baby's between his thumb and forefinger. It felt as if he were holding a hollow egg, and that if he squeezed just a little bit too hard, her hand would break. Light felt his father's rough hand ruffle his hair fondly. _

"_You'll make a great big brother, Raito," Soichiro praised._

"_Yes, she's very lucky to have you," Sachiko agreed. _

"_I won't let anything bad happen to her," he promised his parents. _

Light's brown eyes fell to his hands and he banished the memory to the back of his head. That was something he forgot about long ago, and digging into his own conscious only brought the ugly thing out. He was here now and L had been right about one thing, you couldn't change the past. It was best he keep L as the main priority rather than fantasies of his human life.

"She should be here by now." L's statement brought Light back to the outside world, and he looked to the ex-detective, only to find him staring out at the tracks. The roaring of the train was approaching and more people were gathering around the platform in order to board. It was then Light spotted him.

The man was attractive, tall and wearing a long brown overcoat. However, the true focus of Light's attention was on the man's lifespan. His numbers were at zero, and his face was blank and lifeless. The black aura emitted from his entire frame and the Death God watched as he walked purposely towards the track, hands in his pockets, seemingly oblivious to the people around him.

"I timed our date perfectly," L spoke over the increasing roar of the approaching train. Despite himself, Light found his mouth twisting into a grin as the man got to the edge of the platform and sat down, throwing his legs over the side and lowering himself onto the tracks.

"Oh my God!" a woman shrieked. Instantly, people began to crowd the platform to see where the commotion was happening. Several security guards pushed their way to the front, doing their best to keep the horrified spectators behind the yellow line.

"Do something!" someone screamed over the distraught shouts of the growing crowd. One of the uniformed men pulled out his walky-talky and hollered into it,

"We have a suicidal man on the tracks, train is approaching in a few seconds!"

After that, there was no more time. The train came darting out of the tunnel, the roar filling the entire station. The man was hit by the front car and instantly exploded, his blood spraying across the front of the train along with a few battered organs splattering against the platform with sickening _'plops.' _Light's smile was one of pure delight. To the now screaming crowd, the scene was horrendous, but to Light, it was one of the most breath taking wonders he had ever witnessed.

"Well, looks like she's not coming," L sighed. Light looked down at the ex-detective and found that he too was smiling, eyes half-closed in pleasure, very unlike the look of a man who just got stood up by his date. His appearance was somehow creepy and the Shinigami felt his contempt fading. Something about the way L smiled wasn't right, and he found himself twitching his fingers uncomfortably. It may have been a relieving victory to Kira, but seeing the way those empty eyes gazed practically love struck at the carnage before him was unnerving.

"Light, I believe now is our time to retreat," L said, addressing the Shinigami directly for the first time since the subway's occupants were crowding around the now stationary train. A few people broke off from the crowd and bolted for the stairwell, eyes wide and beady like those of frightened cattle. They thundered up the steps, grasping the railings to pull themselves further up. Turning on his heel with his hands shoved in his pockets, L followed the group at a much slower pace, his head turned towards the chaos he created as he ascended to catch one last glimpse.

"You need to get out of here before everything calms down and they start to look into who that man was," Light warned. "This was a really stupid move on your part."

L got to the top of the stairs and made his way to the ticket booth. The previous few people who had decided to bolt were long gone. Thankfully, the booth was also empty due to the pandemonium going on near the tracks. L simply stepped over the small barricades as if he were stepping into a limo before heading out into the street.

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L never felt so light in all five years of his remembered existence. It was a strange euphoric feeling that suddenly made him feel energized, but a good clean energized, unlike the sluggish kind he got from downing ten cans of soda and a packet of candy. All of L's anxieties about writing in the Death Note seemed to be released as soon as Brandon Goodwall's corpse exploded on impact of the incoming train.

Light, however, had not stopped chastising him since he fled, or rather calmly left the station. The Death God's brown eyes were narrowed with anger, and his mouth was twisted in an irate scowl. L knew why, but was slightly annoyed that Light didn't seem to give him that much credit when it came to thinking ahead.

"What if one of the cameras saw you!" he exclaimed. "L is going to be on this like a moth to a flame! Did you even consider that people might have taken out their camera phones? My God, I thought you were intelligent, or at least smart enough to know never to be at the scene of the crime! Even the most stupid criminals know that!"

"Relax, I thought ahead. That area I picked was one of the many blind spots on the entire transit system. The stairs are conveniently unmonitored since train station personnel are constantly keeping watch there, but due to Mr. Goodwall's unfortunate accident, they had their hands full. Besides, I wasn't the only one leaving. If you recall, there were about twenty or so other people who were fleeing the scene that looked far more suspicious than me."

"It was too risky," Light castigated. "You know this is going to be broadcast all over the news and once they find out that man is a criminal, they'll know it was Kira and look for every witness who was checked in today."

"Which was why I snuck in, plus the fact I have no wish to spend money on a train ticket I will never use."

Light for once was silent, but the air around him seemed to be sizzling with pent up rage.

"Look, I won't do it again it was just something I needed to see once, okay? Please understand." L tried to make peace. "I knew what I was doing when I wrote the cause of death so no need to be so testy."

"_Understand? _What's to understand?" Light asked shrilly. "You wanted to see what it looks like when someone gets hit by a train?"

It wasn't just that, but L found it impossible to express in words what kind of feeling he was having. Instead, he once again shut Light out and began humming a tune in his head to drown out the scolding. The entire episode reminded him of the ever so common teenager-ignoring-the-parent scene that was common in angst filled dramas. However, he wasn't a child and didn't need to be treated like one. L knew what he was doing, and Light's sudden maternal instincts made him seem even more unbearable than before.

"Don't you dare start to ignore me, L Lawliet!" Light demanded. "What you did was stupid and unsafe!"

"What are you, my mother? Light, everything is fine. I assure you, you are overreacting," L reassured calmly.

"I'm not overreacting! I was a police officer! I know how criminals get caught! L found the first Kira when nobody knew how he killed! Now he knows everything, and if you make even the smallest mistake, he'll find you and have you executed!"

"You have to admit that even though you're angry with me, you are pleased inside that I really have agreed to become the second Kira," L pointed out.

"Be that as it may, risking your life by standing at the scene of the crime wasn't worth it!" the Shinigami continued with his rant. "Are you just trying to get yourself killed? Do you have a death wish?"

"Please calm down. You're working yourself up for nothing," L said, voice bored.

"You are absolutely unbelievable!" Light exclaimed.

"I already told you I wouldn't do it again, so let's just drop it. It's over and done with and no amount of yelling is going to change the past, Raito-kun…" L stopped dead in his tracks as the final name rolled off his tongue. A gust of wind blew by, pushing his black hair across his face and making his skin break out in goose bumps. Light too had ceased his fanatics, brown eyes wide and mouth open slightly. The air between them became thick, and L suddenly felt as if he were wearing a tight itchy wool sweater.

"What did you call me?" Light asked in an unbelieving whisper.

"I don't know," L answered truthfully. "I have no idea where it came from." Silence fell over them again for what seemed like hours until Light spoke again.

"Ryuzaki called me that."

The dark-haired man didn't know how to react, so he didn't and simply started walking again, eyes trained ahead. Light's previous anger seemed to have faded when the name escaped L's lips. Both of them seemed to be in shock and neither wanted to pursue the matter due to the heavy awkwardness that flowed between them.

"You're right, it was risky, but there's no danger. I don't intend to do it again," L changed the subject back to the previous matter.

"You better not," was all Light said before they both ran out of words.

L stopped when he came to an overhanging bridge, the edges blocked by a concrete wall that rose to his chest. He placed the Death Note on top of it before leaning against the concrete, head propped on one hand as he watched the sky turn orange in the darkening sky. The buildings were nearly silhouetted as L stared out at the expanse of Nottingham. From up so high, it was hard to imagine that the city held so many dangers. It made him sad to think that possibly nestled between one of the many large beautiful buildings someone was getting robbed or troublemakers were defacing public property. He let his dark eyes scan the entire sight, drinking it in. Maybe one day with his help, Nottingham would be a much safer place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Light landed on top of the wall, his black boots touching down softly on the concrete. L let his attention waver from the sunset to look at the Shinigami, who immediately sat down with his legs curled to his chest and arms resting across his knees.

"You know, you just might kill me one day with how much worry you put me through," Light sighed, his brown eyes no longer narrowed and harsh, but back to their deceiving innocent roundness.

"You're the one who wants me to be the next Kira, then again, it's not like I have much of a choice given the circumstances."

"Well, I didn't choose this either. I never asked you to pick up the Death Note. Honestly, I was looking for a Kira supporter. I figured a homeless shelter was a good place to find one, seeing as Kira's judgment protects them from the criminals that roam the street. So we're both stuck with each other," Light said.

"Fair enough," L agreed. "There wouldn't be much point in choosing someone who is against Kira to continue his reign." There was silence for a moment, until Light spoke again.

"So you had a dream about that guy hurting someone?" he asked, brown eyes staring over the expanse of the city. L didn't answer for a moment, but followed Light's gaze to watch skyline.

"It was something like that," L replied in a quiet tone, feeling if he spoke any louder it would ruin the serenity the sunset brought.

"You know it's not right to kill someone based off a dream."

"No, the story was big on the news after the first Kira was captured," L said. "I guess when we ran into those two men last night it reminded me of the story and that in turn resulted in the dream. That man was preparing to leave town because of the police searching for him."

"So the dream was about a real crime?"

"Yes," L lied, his flesh tingling slightly.

"And you were screaming for help?" Unlike before, Light seemed genuinely interested, but his voice imitated L's own quietness as if he too didn't want to break the calm. L felt a bit uncomfortable at how open he was being with the Death God, considering how much resentment and distrust he felt for him. However, now that he had come to grips with what he was going to accomplish, such a struggle was pointless. Maybe he _could_ work with Light. Certainly not trust him, but possibly reap the benefits from what the Shinigami was offering.

"He wouldn't get off her," L mumbled, his black eyes lowering to his other pale hand that was resting across the top of the wall.

"That's a terrible thing to dream about," Light stated quietly. "And I couldn't or wouldn't help?" L opened his mouth to say wouldn't, but suddenly figured that getting a rise out of Light wasn't worth ruining this promising feeling that was now a part of him. It was an epiphany from hell, but knowing he was going to make a difference to all those women who were now burned in his conscious made it easier to embrace his fate as the new Kira. He'd get to use his neglected genius to outsmart L the detective and possibly find out more about his past.

"You couldn't," he finally answered. "You were reaching to help, but something wouldn't let you." L turned to catch Light's reaction and was surprised when Light stood up on the wall. Facing out into the city, the Death God spread his arms out to the side and opened his wings. The slight breeze ruffled the silky ebony feathers. He seemed in harmony with the entire earth and the sky, his auburn locks twisting across his perfectly sculpted face.

"What are you doing?" L asked, gazing up at the Shinigami strangely.

"When I was human, I kind of had a thing about flying," Light responded. "It was more when I was a little kid, but I remember I used to stand like this on the balcony railing whenever it was windy and pretend. It scared my mother half to death, so for her sake, I stopped after I turned four and a half."

L was awed by the Shinigami's openness about something so personal. Though last night he had shared details about his hobbies and family, something as silly as childhood fantasies tended to remain locked up in one's mind due to the embarrassment most felt at their ridiculousness. People only shared them on dates as a way of connecting and this was by no means a 'date' by any sense of the word.

"Why are you telling me this?" he wondered out loud.

"Ah, why not?" Light shrugged. "It can't harm anything." L suddenly wanted to top Light and share something personal about his own childhood, but was greeted by the impenetrable mist.

_Maybe it's for the best, _L thought sadly. _For all I know he could be lying. _However, there was a fond smile on Light's face, contributing to the possibility that the Death God was in fact telling the truth. However, L was unable to see his eyes to tell what emotion was going through them so he decided to observe further before drawing a conclusion.

"Pretty stupid, huh?" Light met L's gaze and gave a sheepish grin. Now that he was able to see his eyes, Light seemed indeed truthful.

"You said that before when you thought I was Ryuzaki," L stated.

"I'm just stuck in the past, that's all," Light sighed. "To tell you the truth, these six days we've spent together, I'm actually starting to like you more than Ryuzaki." L was caught off guard by this, but kept his face stoic. Why was Light suddenly being so open? L knew there was nothing he could do to harm the Death God even if he wanted to, but still, Light struck him as someone who was anything but the 'sharing type' and relied on perfected acting skills to socialize. Maybe Light wasn't being open at all, maybe he was just trying to get L to like him and trust him. He had the feeling he was beginning to let himself be manipulated, and mentally kicked himself for having the urge to share a childhood fantasy earlier. Well, two could play at that game.

"Why is that?"

"Ryuzaki never trusted me when all I wanted to do was be his friend. Everyone was the enemy in his eyes. To tell you the truth, he caused me quite a bit of heartache. Worried me half to death all the time."

"I don't trust you," L reminded.

"Yeah, but soon you will," Light laughed as the wind picked up speed. "You and I are on the same side, there's no way I'd betray you." The statement was filled with so much honesty that L had a hard time coming up with a retort. The Shinigami seemed so relaxed, as if his thoughts simply slid out of his mouth. The usual churning gears L saw whenever he looked into Light's brown eyes were gone, replaced with something warmer.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, it's just I feel responsible for you in a weird way," Light explained after a short while.

"I'm not a child," L muttered, absentmindedly playing with the cover of the Death Note.

"I know," Light said. "Wrong choice of words, but I did talk you into this, so I feel entitled to protect you in any way I can without killing myself."

"Protect me?" L asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

Light didn't answer, but continued his mock flight, wings still open and arms spread out. The black cloth of his shirt rippled in the wind, while the tiny cross around his neck twisted on its thin chain.

"You look like my friend," the Shinigami said quietly.

_If this is an act it's way too corny, _L thought. "So I'm basically a way for you to ease your guilt for screwing up?" L asked bluntly. Light simply turned to look at him, a half-smile quirking his lips.

"Sure, if that's what you want to believe."

_There is no way you're telling the truth. When you first showed up you were an absolute terror and that's when you thought I was your so called 'friend,' Ryuzaki. Now you're trying to pull a maternally protective companion who 'wants to help.' Then you try to win me over with a sob story about how you 'miss' your 'friend' and how you want to protect me because I look so much like him, pathetic really. You and I both know that you're only worried about me because you need me. If I were to die you'd have to find a new human, and all your work convincing me to write would have gone to waste. Your motive is so transparent. You really should work on your personality transitions if you really want to fool me, _L figured inside his mind after a moment, letting his teeth chew on his thumb and then said aloud, "You _are_ on my side, aren't you?"

"That's what I'm here for," Light reminded, returning to face the setting sun.

"That's good." L wasn't sure what else to say, so he kept quiet and watched Light a bit longer. In a way, he was able to see the Shinigami actually flying. The strange feeling from the night before crept up on him, but there was nothing he really did to stop it. He came up with a simple conclusion that made the whole scenario more tolerable. Light was beautiful, but even if L were attracted to him, he knew he wasn't in love with him. Love required trust, which was something he doubted he'd feel towards anybody let alone the Shinigami. He felt something squirm inside his stomach when he realized he just admitted he was attracted to Light. The thought made him sick, but he knew that attraction was the Death God's best weapon when it came to manipulation.

L was determined to resist his charm. He was going to pick up where Kira left off, but he was going to do it _his _way. If Light was so eager to help then he'd have to do what L said with no back talk or perfect world nonsense. Then again, Light hadn't really said anything about a perfect world. So far his goal seemed entirely focused on finding a new Kira. Now that L filled that role, he had a feeling that he and Light were going to fight quite a bit over what Kira was going to do. Still, L had the notebook so L was in the driver's seat. With that decided, L felt a bit more secure and spoke to the Shinigami once more.

"It's getting late, I better head off."

"You go ahead," Light answered, still gazing out into the darkening horizon. "I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

L blinked a few times, one dark eyebrow raised in question. Was Light really going to leave him alone? Wasn't it in the Shinigami rules that a Death God had to follow the owner of the Death Note? Light hadn't really explained much to him, but L was beginning to think that he'd never get a moment alone.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

"Yeah, enjoy a bit of time without me," Light said. "I trust you, and besides, I can find you anywhere you go since you own the Death Note."

"Well, see you in a few minutes then." Without another word, L continued down the road at a leisurely pace, leaving his companion behind. He was indeed feeling good. It was as if he finally found his calling, a way to use his intelligence and change the world.

Those women would get justice, and men like George Monroe and Peter Shane were to be exterminated. They were like aggressive dogs that had to be put down. L found himself smiling at the thought. Aggressive dogs, that's all they were. He had to kill the rabid animal to protect the innocent that could be infected and turned into monsters themselves. L wasn't a deluded megalomaniac like the first Kira, he was realistic. A perfect world was impossible to achieve, but a safer world was. He wasn't going to be a 'god,' but a protector.

"_All evil needs to triumph is for good men to do nothing," _he thought with the faintest of smiles.

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Light continued to stand against the wind, relishing the way the cool breeze stroked the feathers of his large wings and let the soft strands of his hair sweep across his face. It was like he was back to being four years old, before he was aware of corruption and greed. He was in a time before he was bored out of his mind and was content to pretend he could fly. That was before he started resenting his family and his new sister.

Light was going to be the god of a new world and the best part was his former enemy was now his greatest ally. No longer would he have to sneak around the detective or hide his true feelings. Now that L was his willing puppet, he was going to dispose of Near and finally gain control an old corrupted world and create a new one where justice ruled.

Still, Light was totally against making L his friend in the true sense of the word. If he got too close he might actually end up saving L and that was unacceptable. In the end all humans did was hurt one another be it intentionally or unintentionally. Light learned this lesson the hard way at a very young age and he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

This was what bothered him the most. He only had six months to achieve his goal. L had that much time left on his lifespan before he was to be murdered by thugs. Light found this strange since one of the rules stated that unless a person's name was written in the book, no other person could be affected. However, he figured that the Death Note would conjure the murderers on its own and after L died they'd most likely dissolve into sand.

The thought suddenly made him depressed. What was he going to do when L died? After all, he'd gone through all this trouble to get him to use the notebook, but all that would be up in smoke when L's life ended. Now Light had an even bigger hurtle to overcome, getting L to trust him and actually accept his input and ideas. So far, this 'you-look-like-my-friend-so-I-want-to-protect-you' act was really fraying his nerves and he couldn't shake the obvious fact it wasnt really working anyway. Maybe he should tell L some phony personal stuff, the kind that oozed cheese.

_Ugh, that's so not me. It's bad enough that I actually told him a true one about the whole stupid flying thing, _Light's thoughts halted after this, and his brows furrowed slightly. _Why did I do that? It's not like I have any super big attachment to him. I kind of like him, sure. I like that he actually has more than two facial expressions now, but I certainly wouldn't have told that to just anybody. Oh well, not like he can go anywhere with it and maybe, if I'm lucky, he might trust me a bit more. Yeah right, the day that man puts his trust into me is the day Nate River holds up a sign that reads "I Love Kira." A real shame._

After awhile, he heard footsteps approach . Figuring it was simply a passerby that wasn't able to see him, he didn't bother to open his eyes. However, once they reached him, they stopped and Light felt a smile of amusement tug at his lips.

"Lawliet, I told you, you can leave. You have to go to work in about a half an hour," he said. Expecting a vague statement, Light frowned when the person didn't answer. "Lawliet?" Opening his eyes, Light looked down from his perch to see a young woman staring at him, mouth open and eyes bulging in disbelief. She was the saddest excuse for a human he had ever seen, sickly and pale. His eyes drifted up to her pathetic remains of lifespan. Her name didn't matter to him, all he saw were the frail little numbers, and a hunger he had never known before overtook him.

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Beatrice Wilcott walked alone on the street, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her mother's worn leather coat she was wearing over an elegant party dress. All her friends affectionately referred to her as Bea, and she had moved to the city five years ago to find love. It all amounted to nothing at this point, but after drunken parties and one night stands with much older men, Bea had met her Mr. Right.

He had been charming, handsome, and understanding, the kind of man all women searched for. He had asked her to marry him and with the fairy tale romance in mind, she had hastily agreed. Not long after the marriage, Bea had become pregnant with her first child, a little girl who she named Vita Marie after a character in one of her favorite books. Mr. Right had been supportive and Bea finally found the love she had so desperately searched for.

However, luck and happiness always seemed to be where she wasn't and not long after Vita Marie started growing inside of her, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. It had spread, and she had no choice but to end her daughter's life. Though her lover tried to support her, she ended up shutting him out and pushing him away until he lost hope in her and left. Now she was alone.

Bea was still young, in her mid twenties, but already her life was coming to an end. Despite the fact she had ended Vita Marie's life before it even began, the cancer had spread and she had only about a month or two to live. The chemo had taken her hair and opened sores on the skin of her face and arms, but Bea found she could still walk, so she did. She walked for hours at a time until her feet were too numb to feel the pain.

She was now headed towards a bridge after escaping one of her few remaining friend's birthday party to watch the sun set. The romantic in her was not yet completely gone, and she loved the moment when the sun encased the entire city in a dark silhouette, turning the sky into a rainbow of oranges and pinks. Bea didn't know why she agreed to go to a party, but knew her friend had invited her in attempts to bring her out of her depression.

Bea wanted to be out of it too, but she knew she was dying. That knowledge was too much for anyone to bear, but she had gone wrapped in her most expensive dress, covered in makeup and a blond wig in hopes she'd be asked to dance. If she were asked to dance, it would show she still had worth as a woman, that she was still desirable even though she now suffered from a disease that was going to kill her very soon. But she was never asked; instead, she spent the hour sitting hopefully by the dance floor, politely yet undoubtedly ignored.

With her head down like a prisoner headed for lethal injection she turned the corner, only to run head on into another person. There was a grunt as the other person dropped whatever they were carrying, and she just barely caught herself before she tumbled to the ground. Regaining her balance, she noticed a black notebook was flipped open on the ground and she hurriedly picked it up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Bea apologized, looking up to find a dark haired man staring at her with wide black eyes, his posture slouched as he studied her.

"No need," he said, putting a thumb between his teeth. He was rather strange looking, wearing a loose white shirt and baggy jeans. His feet were covered with ratty tennis shoes, the laces untied and frayed, while his black hair was unruly and stuck up in the back. In short, his appearance was entirely sloppy, as if he didn't much care for it.

"Again, I'm really sorry," she apologized again, handing the man his notebook back. He simply gave her a nod and continued on his way as if nothing had happened. Bea found herself staring after him until he vanished around the corner. Sighing, she continued on her way to the bridge. It was getting close now.

The sight that greeted her when she arrived nearly made her question her own sanity. Standing on the concrete wall that kept the observers from falling over the edge was a man, but Bea rubbed her eyes a few times in disbelief at the sight of him.

Giant black wings were stretched out to their full extent, while his arms were spread to the side as if he were a little kid pretending to fly. His eyes were closed against the wind, his silky auburn hair wafting across his pale face. The man's lean black clad frame was a contrast to the orange sky, a few thin purple clouds framing his majestic beauty.

Despite herself, Bea found that her feet were carrying her towards him on their own accord. She didn't try to fight it, her heart hammering in her chest as she drank in the sight of such an unearthly creature. Once she got close enough, she stopped a few feet away from him, unable to think or breathe, only stare at the way his glossy wings were sculpted. They were full of muscle and power, yet at the same time they seemed fragile and elegant.

"Lawliet, I told you, you can leave. You have to go to work in about a half an hour," he said, eyes still closed. Bea found her voice was lodged hopelessly in her throat and she didn't say a word. The man seemed to notice this and turned to face her. "Lawliet?"

As soon as he opened his eyes, her heart nearly melted out of her chest. The most stunning pair of brown eyes widened when he saw her, and he instantly lowered his arms and folded his wings around his shoulders. The man stared at her for a moment, looking her up and down until his gaze rested above her head. More to her surprise than alarm, his eyes started to glow red and a hungry, an almost predatory expression coming over him.

"You can see me?" he asked in a casual manner, his lips parting to reveal a gleaming white grin.

Bea only nodded, watching as he bent down and unclasped the black notebook that was holstered to his leg. The cover had strange symbols imprinted into it. Anyone could have put together the pieces and though Bea wasn't incredibly intelligent she was able to associate the word 'death' with black wings and red eyes.

For once, she felt a certain calm wash over her as she watched the creature before her take out a pen. This was finally it. Prehistoric instincts told her that she was going to die, but there was no panic or fear. She didn't beg or grovel for the black winged man to spare her life or what was left of it. She felt calm, at peace, as if she finally had closure to an agonizing journey that brought her nothing but misfortune. After the man finished writing, he closed the notebook and placed it back in the holster. After a few seconds of silence Bea found her voice.

"Are you the Angel of Death?"

"Yes," he responded with a gentle smile.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Will you dance with me for a moment?"

For a brief second it looked as if he were going to refuse, but it was only a temporary hesitation before he shrugged and smiled again. "Yes."

"Thank you." Bea found herself mimicking her companion's facial expression. It felt good to smile again. She hadn't smiled since she had named her unborn child. "And," she added as an afterthought. "It's about time you got here."

He held his arms out to her.

* * *

So here you go! I hope you enjoyed L's slow transition to the dark side and sorry it was so long but again I'm going to be locked away for two weeks. Light finally has his first victim and the effects will be clear when I return. I really wanted to put Near in this chapter, but it was already waay too long! He'll be first to appear next though, with an interesting twist. Light also has some small secrets. I decided that there are tons of fics where L has the angsty past and drama, and though this is nowhere near that, I decided to give the main character some scars. XP

Special shout outs to **Kyra132, xDeepestEndx, Barranca, rain angst, From Spark to Flame** and **tonieboo0013** you guys really gave me great inspiration

Just as a reminder incase anybody forgot, I need to be sure who Near's new Watari is before I can properly write the next chapter.


	7. Defective Little Toy

Hello! I've returned from the grave and have come up with the next chapter! This is a very Near-centric point of the story but it has a few hidden plot points that I need to touch upon. Thank you so much for the reviews, I'll blab more at the end so I won't hold you back. I really like this chapter's title lol! Also one reviewer was confused on how that one chick could see Light. I thought it was pretty obvious, but I'll explain. When she ran into L, that 'black notebook' he dropped was the Death Note, and she bent down and gave it back being a nice person. So, yeah.... Also my other beta had run into some personal issues so I'd like to have a second beta, considering my chapters are long and my mistakes are many so if you're interested just PM me.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note it belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata! **

**Thanks goes to Amanda Saitou for betaing.  
**

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Near entered the spacious white room and sat down before the man as usual. It was completely empty inside, save for the man and the walls, which were covered in various rough pencil sketches of churches and angels. With one knee curled to his chest, Near's gray eyes fixated briefly on the covered face of the room's single occupant before turning to watch his assistant make his way through the door. Roger gave a brief nod to the doctor who stood holding it open, and stopped when his dress shoes brought him next to Near. In his hands was a clear plastic tub of blocks which the albino waited for expectantly.

Roger bent down momentarily to place them next to his employer before standing up straight again. Near studied him briefly, noticing how tense the elderly man's muscles appeared beneath the fabric of his suit. It was no secret that Roger never approved of these meetings, though thankfully he had yet to voice it. Near knew that Roger cared for him in his own way, but managed to restrain his feelings for the sake of professionalism. Roger was also aware of the many emotional boundaries the younger boy placed between them. Despite the fact that he had known the detective since the age of six, he was more or less subservient when it came to the boy's personal matters. Near trusted him completely when it came to cases, but as far as intimacy went, though Near did have a fondness for the elderly man, everything that went on in his head remained private.

"You may go, Roger thank you," Near dismissed, reaching for the blocks and grasping a handful. He immediately got to work setting up the base of his fortress, blocking himself inside. Roger wordlessly turned away and left through the door, followed closely by the doctor who shot a suspicious look towards the man Near calmly sat before.

"Hello again," the man greeted, tilting his head slightly causing black strands of hair to fall across his sickly pale forehead. His voice was devoid of warmth or friendliness, but Near remained undisturbed. If anything, the man kept his voice so dull for Near's sake. He understood that with each visit, Near was opening a hole in the private world he lived in his entire life. If the man showed any sign of becoming emotionally invested, it would cause Near to retreat back into that world and present him with the cold exterior he gave everyone else.

"I'm here for an hour," Near informed, stacking the next set of blocks on top of the first.

"It's good to hear your voice again, it shows you're improving," the man praised. Near felt a pang of his deeply hidden anxiety, though remained impassive on the outside. That remark had a touch of fondness in it. Near's paranoia was attempting to get the best of him. What if he was getting too attached to the man? People used relationships to manipulate each other- such as in hostage crises. So far Near proved situations like that hardly affected him due to his apathetic nature, but if he started caring then that all might very well change. The reason he came here was to learn to communicate better, not develop feelings.

Most of the time, the only people he contacted directly were Commander Rester, Gevanni and occasionally Hal Lidner, but there were times when he was forced to communicate with local police stations to obtain evidence or use them to physically catch a suspect. Often times they showed resistance when it came to simply obeying, and many found Near's methods to be dangerous and sometimes cruel. Most of the time, Gevanni or Roger did the talking for him since many found his vocabulary and way of wording things confusing and so icy it was like he burned them. Knowing his efficiency as the world's three greatest detectives rested with his dependence on others killed him. However, during every visit, the man always reassured Near that he was in charge of how much he was willing to open up and remained completely neutral no matter what path was decided upon. Near was dependent on no one when it came to their conversations. The thought comforted him.

"I'm glad you think so," Near commented, his voice empty.

"What would you like to do for this hour?" the man asked, his tone restrained. The detective felt himself relax a bit more, and the anxious knot that had formed in his stomach loosened considerably. The man always knew when Near reached his mental limit and did nothing to push the barriers that were rooted deep inside the detective's head. He simply waited patiently for Near to release them on his own, not forcing himself inside of the boy's carefully guarded mind and violating it.

Despite Near's first uncomfortable meetings with the man, his presence now was a soothing factor. He was better than any therapist. Instead of pretending to know everything and become impatient with Near's slow progress, he simply waited. He hadn't lied when he said Near was in control, and remained silent when his visitor didn't wish to speak anymore.

"You're reaching out nicely today," he complimented. "You returned my hello."

"It's only polite," Near responded. "I'm ready now."

"Good, you know the procedure, I ask a series of 45 questions and you can pass as many as you want. Remember that this is all yours. There's no point in me forcing you to answer, for you'll only shut down."

"Then begin," Near said quietly, placing a cylinder shaped block on one corner of his now foot-tall fortress.

"What is your name?"

"Pass." The man tilted his head slightly, brows slanting upwards in a saddened expression. Near felt a rush of anxiety again. The reason he liked talking with the man was because he offered companionship without the need of painful emotions. If he was sad, Near wasn't sure how to react, just like he wasn't sure how to react to much anything.

"You won't even tell me your name, that's sad," the man said, his voice laced with something that made the discomfort of his visitor surge. Near felt himself take an involuntary sharp breath, which caused the man to turn his head so it appeared he was looking directly at the boy despite the blindfold. "Well, I understand the danger of you revealing your true name to anybody, so that question is a dud, Near."

His voice was now back to being empty of anything other than mild curiosity. "Would you like to continue or was I too out of line today?" The man's body language instantly became submissive, and he lowered his blinded eyes to stare at the hard tiled floor. Through the white binding of his jacket, the detective was able to see some quick movements, as if the man were trying to lower himself to the ground. It was all a tactic to keep him from retreating, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

Near certainly appreciated the Herculean effort it took for him to act that way. The man was anything but submissive, often stating he didn't back down from anything, even traffic signs. In a way, he reminded Near of Mello. Thinking about his deceased comrade, the detective had the urge to sigh, but held it in. Instead, he focused on the situation at hand. Still, sometimes he wished he had never given Mello that picture back.

"No one has called me Near in quite sometime," the albino stated, returning to stacking his blocks.

"Well, today would you like me to call you Near or L?" Near thought about it. He liked being called 'Near' when he felt inclined to reach out and take the risks the man often encouraged him to, but he preferred 'L' when the risks were too much. Today was a good day, and Near's emotional separation wasn't too thick.

"Near would be fine."

"Very well then, Near," the man said. "Shall we continue?"

"Yes," he responded. His round gray eyes looked to the tub of blocks as he reached for a few more.

"Are you always by yourself?"

"Pass."

"Why do you always build your towers and place your things around yourself?" Near remembered revealing this information to the blindfolded man after his seventh visit, however he was not yet ready to go into the ever complicated reasons.

"Pass."

"Are you so distant because you're afraid or because you think you're better than everybody else?"

"_That kid over there is new. He's been here for like two weeks and already he's getting perfect scores on all the exams. He's only six years old too, younger than you, Benny." _

"_Wow, I bet he's going to be the new L."_

"_Don't let Mello hear you say that or you'll get your teeth knocked out." _

"_He doesn't talk to anybody though."_

"_Probably because he think he's better than us."_

"Pass."

"Has anyone felt the need to ask you these questions, but have done so in a disrespectful manner causing you to feel the violation you told me about?

"_I'm going to try and talk to him."_

"_Benny, don't he's not bothering anybody."_

"Pass."

"Why do you feel the need to isolate yourself in the first place?"

"_Hey, you!" a boy shouted as he approached the place where Near sat arranging his block tower, complete with several blank puzzles and an army of plastic robots. "Why are you so quiet? Do you think you're better than us or something?" The boy kneeled down just outside of Near's tower and glared. He had incredibly short scruffy brown hair and small beady pig-like eyes. Finding the child to be anything but pleasant to look at and unsure of what to say, he returned to building._

"_Hey, I'm talking to you!" Near felt himself tense as a bout of nervousness overtook him. This boy was encroaching on something he barely understood. _

"Pass."

"When people you don't need try to reach out to you, what do you do?"

_Maybe if Near ignored him, he'd go away. Wasn't that what one did with stray animals? People often said that if you fed a homeless dog or cat, they'd return expecting you to feed them again. This boy was obviously looking to get a reaction out of him, but the problem was that Near didn't know how to react. All he wanted was to be left alone in his world without the mess of the Outside. Besides, he was better than this child who glared at him while acting superior. He required attention and the approval and acceptance of other people, while Near was able to live without them just fine. Everything he needed was in himself, so without sparing the boy another glance, he stacked another block._

"_Hey, don't ignore me!" _

"Pass." Near felt his eyes narrow slightly.

"When someone tries to force you to open up, how does that make you feel?

"_Please leave and try not to knock the tower over," Near asked softly, making brief eye contact to show he was serious. He did not wish to speak to the intruder, but decided to simply use his neglected vocal chords to send the boy away. However, his quiet demand only seemed to make the other child angry rather than cause him leave along with his previous show of contempt._

"_You can't tell me what to do, only Roger and Mr. Wammy can!" he snapped rudely. Near's nervousness was replaced with disgust for the child's immaturity and he tore his narrowed stare away to continue building his tower. "Hey don't ignore me, kid!" Near didn't bother to listen, already back inside his utopia. Focusing completely on the blocks, the other boy could have been dead for all he cared. _

"Pass."

"Is the reason you come here every week because you want to know how to deal with people you don't care about?"

_Near heard a frustrated growl from above him and froze as the boy's foot broke through the front of his tower. The multicolored blocks tumbled around the boy's outstretched leg, clattering sadly against one another until they lay in a messy heap on the ground. Near's eyes widened as he stared at what was left of the front of his fortress, one block poised above it clasped in Near's rigid hand . The smaller boy lifted his head to stare in disbelief at the older one. _

"_Benny, that was mean!" a girl shouted from behind him. _

_There was a smirk plastered to Benny's face and he crossed his arms over his chest. Near only lowered his gaze back down to the destroyed wall of his tower. A feeling of dirtiness overcame him and his skin crawled. The boy was standing on top of the blocks right in Near's circle. He felt violated. The older boy had just pushed himself into Near's world, bringing the Outside in with him. His sanctuary was being overrun, trampled upon like an old western village in the midst of a stampede. The boy was too close and Near was overwhelmed by anger, fear, and uncertainty._

"Pass."

"What usually happens when a person wanders in too close against your permission?"

_Without thinking, Near snatched one of his nearby robots up and stood abruptly. Benny's piggy eyes widened for a brief second, before Near beamed the older boy across the face with the plastic toy. The wing of the robot dug into Benny's cheek, splitting it open and causing the seven-year-old to fall onto his side. He screamed as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and the nasty gash on his cheek. _

"_Benny!"_

"_Roger, come quick, the new kid's going to kill Benny!" _

"_You idiot!" Benny continued to sob from his place on the ground, tears spilling from his tightly closed eyes. "You stupid freak!" Near stared down at him for a moment, his entire frame rigid and still. His thoughts were now buzzing with anger and fear and there was a sharp painful pounding in his ears. He had to protect himself, he had to make the intruder leave. His world was now violated, and the people from the Outside were staring at him. Near felt something close to pain erupt inside of his chest. This was too much. Instincts told him to get rid of the threat or be harmed. Near lifted the robot above his head and took a step forward so that he was standing directly over Benny._

"Pass."

"Is one of the reasons you keep visiting me because I remind you of someone?"

_Just as Near was about to bring the robot down again, another pair of hands caught his wrists tightly, and two steel blue eyes met his own. _

"_What the hell is wrong with you?" Mello shouted, his gaze narrowed and menacing. Near returned the cold stare and released the robot. It clattered to the floor harmlessly, the adjustable head twisted backwards on its shoulders. Mello continued to glare at him angrily, mouth twisted in a disgusted scowl. The blond boy's iron grip tightened slightly, but Near showed no outer change in expression. However, the bones of his wrists throbbed in protest, causing the smaller boy to unconsciously lower himself to appease Mello's dominating mentality. _

"_He broke my wall," Near explained in his usual monotone voice. After a moment of heated staring, Mello released the smaller child's wrists and took a step away. Near backed into his partially destroyed fortress, his gray eyes still trained cautiously on the other boy as he began to reconstruct the fallen wall. _

"_Did you see what he did to me, Mello?" Benny sniffed, rubbing his puffy eyes after he stood up. "I'm going to tell Roger about this!" Near felt his previous fear perish as soon as the wall of blocks started to rise again, cutting him off from the rest of the orphanage. Now he watched curiously from behind the barrier, his mouth drawn downwards. _

"_From what I saw you deserved it," Mello scolded, crossing his arms. "He wasn't bothering you and there's obviously something wrong with him. Yet, you decided to provoke him anyway. Either you were trying to pick on someone you thought was weaker because of your own insecurities or because you're stupid. I'm guessing both or maybe a bit more so of the second." _

"_That's not fair," Benny mumbled, tears still trailing down his cheeks. Near admired the still bleeding cut on the boy's face. No one would bother him now._

"_It's true, now go find a caretaker to clean that cut up," Mello ordered. Apparently Benny had no qualms about obeying Mello's command for he simply sauntered off, casting dejected looks over his shoulder as he went. Near didn't blame him. If he were in touch with the Outside he might actually be afraid of the menacing blond boy._

"Pass."

"In the aftermath of someone violating you by attempting to force unjust answers from you, how do you usually feel?"

_After most of the children had dispersed and Near was completely anchored back in his own world, he glanced up to find Mello looking at him. It wasn't a friendly look and there was a strange fire in the older boy's eyes. Mello's stare was intense. He was frowning slightly while his mouth remained unsmiling. He was looking at Near as if he were an obstacle to overcome. _

"_You stood up for me," Near commented, releasing Mello from his glassy gaze to look at one of his completed blank puzzles. _

"Pass."

"Are you sad because even though they said you were the best, you know in your heart that he was better because he was loved?"

"_Yeah, well maybe if you weren't such a freak I wouldn't have to!"_

"Pass," Near felt his voice crack slightly, but remained composed. Lifting his sleeve, he coughed a little in hopes the man hadn't caught it. The blinded one remained silent for a moment, head still tilted to the side.

"I see," was all he uttered.

_---------------------------------------------------_

After the slow dance, Light released Beatrice Wilcott's hands and stepped away as a blank look overcame her. Beatrice's soft smile evaporated, and her eyes lost their spirit, becoming blank disks that were blind to the world around her. Light watched as she turned slowly so that she faced the wall of the bridge, and took two steps until she was standing directly behind it. Resting her hands on top of the concrete, she pulled herself up so that she was standing on the wall, looking over the bridge and out into the city. The blond wig she wore blew back in the windas she leaned forward on the balls of her feet. With her arms out to the side, she fell over the edge, the frills of her party dress the last thing Light saw before he heard the _thud _of her body against the pavement below.

The effects of her death were instantaneous and a feeling of euphoria overcame the Death God. It felt as if something warm were coursing through his veins, injected through every pore in his body. Light gasped as pleasure overtook him, and his knees became too weak to hold up his body weight. The woman's lifespan drained from her corpse into him. His fingers twitched and his eyes became hooded as his trembling legs gave out and he was on his knees. Such a warmth softly caressed him from the inside and his body felt stronger, senses sharpening.

However, the pleasure quickly turned to volatile pain and Light gasped again, his eyes widening as he clutched his stomach. The warmth quickly turned into cramps that racked his sides, and he curled into himself, falling to his side on the pavement. He began to breathe harshly as more pain engulfed him, his hands clenching into tight fists and his body writhing upon the pavement.

_What's happening? _Light thought shutting his eyes tightly as white flashes appeared before his vision. _She only had two months! Don't tell me that was too much to take! Why is it hurting so bad? _

"Taking your first life is quite a kick isn't it, Kira?" a female voice asked from above him. Light gingerly opened his eyes and turned his head to see another Shinigami standing above him. Her entire head was a skull, currently cocked to the side as she observed him. A golden plate with several thin chains dangling from its edges covered the top of her hood to hold it in place, while her lanky body was dressed in silks studded with precious stones.

"D…Dalil?" Light asked weakly. He remembered Ryuk introduced her as being one of the more powerful Death Gods. Unlike Ryuk's love for apples, her obsession was jewels and like most of her kind, she spent much of her time gambling. Light also recalled watching her indulge in the rather disturbing hobby of stacking human skulls.

"First time is always rough for newborns, but don't worry, it will become more pleasurable as you mature. Your body just has to meet the minimum requirement of transformation before you can really start to work your way up."

Another burst of pain caused Light to cry out and he closed his eyes again as more blinding lights flashed. He tucked his wings around himself in hopes to soothe the cramping, but to little avail. Wasn't there anything he could do to stop this? Light's brain churned for a few moments before the idea suddenly hit him. L was resurrected when Rem wrote his name twice, maybe all he had to do was write Beatrice Wilcott's name again and she'd return to life, thus stopping the horrible agony overtaking him. Carefully, he reached down to his leg and unclasped his Death Note.

"Are you going to write more names when your body still isn't done absorbing the first?" Dalil asked in disbelief, leaning forward curiously as Light opened the notebook with quivering hands.

"I have to…" the newborn began, but was cut off by his own involuntary hiss of pain. "Write…her name…again."

"Ah," Dalil responded. "That won't work, Kira."

"Why…not?" Light growled through clenched teeth.

"For one, it's forbidden and punishable by death, a level two offense I belive, and two, for it to work properly, one must write the second name before the first cause of death takes effect. Also, you must give substantial time between the first and second deaths for the first body to be buried in order for the second to be resurrected."

"Shi… shit!" Light shouted.

"Besides all that, the span between the first time they die to when they are resurrected and die again has to be within their natural lifespan. It's too much trouble if you ask me and rather useless anyway considering only Shinigami can do it. Either way the human dies."

"I…get it," Light panted. Dalil watched him breathe shakily a moment longer before speaking again.

"It won't last for much longer, your body is already starting to calm down." It was true, and Light felt his muscles relax a bit and the cramps ease away like melting ice. After a few more minutes, the pain was replaced by weariness and Light was left panting on the ground, brown eyes half closed.

"Second time shouldn't be too rough. I remember my first name, a Shuuji Suzumia as I recall," Dalil's skull turned upwards as she reminisced to herself.

"What are you doing here?" He prayed she hadn't dropped her Death Note. If she had, then Light wasn't sure what made her suddenly interested in the human world. Out of all the Death Gods, Dalil was the most apathetic when it came to the affairs of humans, but a lot had changed for both realms. Ryuk might have corrupted her. Thinking about having another Kira to control was enough to give him a headache. Dalil's empty eye sockets seemed to contemplate him briefly before she answered,

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that." The other Shinigami lifted a bony finger to scratch at the side of her hood. Light groaned before weakly pushing himself into a sitting position. After a moment of panting, Light caught sight of his right hand and gasped, his eyes widening. Lifting it to his face, he let the fingers of his left hand run over it. It felt as hard as marble and looked blackened like he had held it in a fire. The fingers were elongated and his nails had turned into sharp claws that curved inwards.

"Oh, my God," Light murmured, clenching and unclenching his newly formed hand. "This can't be happening."

"What did you think transformation meant?" Dalil asked. Light ignored her, and pulled down his sleeve to find his wrist and forearm covered in dark protruding veins. The only consolation was that unlike his hand, the untouched flesh wasn't black, but the veins were enough to make him gag. How far did they go up? Or worse, what if they were on his face? Light had half a mind to run to a window and check his reflection, but was sourly reminded that he didn't have one. Instead, he reached upwards with his good hand and hurriedly felt his cheeks. To his utter relief, they were smooth and soft like always. He let his fingers wander through his hair and he sighed an inaudible 'thank you.' Lifting up his shirt, he found his stomach and chest to be unaffected and breathed another deep sigh of relief. The veins spread to his shoulder, then seemed to vanish beneath the muscles.

"Hands always transform first," Dalil explained. "So you're right handed, correct?" Light looked up at her quickly, frowning slightly.

"How did you know that?"

"The hand you write names with is always the hand that transforms first."

"Oh." Light shakily got to his feet, his knees trembling in protest. For a moment, he feared he was going to tumble to the ground again, but made his legs stand firm.

"I'm here to warn you, Kira," Dalil stated after the danger of the newborn falling seemed to have passed. Light instantly focused on the other Shinigami, his chest tightening in alarm. Despite the fact he now stood up straight, she was still considerably taller than he was, and he was forced to crane his neck backwards to look up at her.

"Warn me about what?"

"Luckily for you, The King is very fond of you." Dalil lifted a finger and poked Light in the center of his forehead. The tips of her skeletal fingers were sharp and the place she touched stung a bit. "You broke one of the rules last night." Light frowned, trying to remember exactly what happened. It didn't take him long to pinpoint exactly where he went wrong, but he also wasn't aware of the rule at the time.

"No one told me it was against the rules to tell a human another person's name!" Light exclaimed, taking a step forward to glare into Dalil's hollow eyes. She backed away a short distance and raised her hands as if to ward off an attacking dog.

"We all know that, Kira. That's why The King only sent me to warn you," she explained. "We all know that Ryuk told you most of the rules to you when you were human, then again when you were first reborn as a Shinigami. He informed us he forgot to mention this one. So here I am to tell you not to do it again or you'll be punished." Light continued to glare at her, then turned away to reholster his Death Note.

"Consider me warned," Light said, his tone restrained yet bitter. Another wrench was thrown in the machine. Now he wasn't able to give L names, but forced to offer the eye trade with him. The King had granted Light the ability to trade the eyes for lifespan, but L only had six months to live and even that was pressing when Kira had so much to accomplish. To hack that down even further to three months was even worse, and Light doubted that his body could handle another intake of lifespan so soon after its first.

"Good. Well, congratulations on your first kill," Dalil praised. Spreading her own wings, she hopped on top of the wall to look down at the body of Light's first victim. The chains hanging around her head jingled together and her clothes rippled loudly. The entire movement reminded him of a giant bird. "You have successfully added two months to your lifespan."

"So the second time wont hurt, right?" Light asked, rubbing the thin fingers of his mutated hand uncomfortably.

"No, the pain is only for first time newborns as a way to remind them not to overdo it."

"So what are you going to do now?" he asked. The empty sockets rotated back to him.

"I'm going to return to the Shinigami Realm to watch you along with the others." Light suddenly felt a sharp jolt of unease.

"I'm being watched?"

"Of course," Dalil informed. "You and Ryuk are the biggest celebrities in the Shinigami Realm, and thanks to you, murder counts are up and the realm is starting to recover."

"In just six days?" Light questioned.

"_Starting to _are the key words, but yes, give it a few hundred years and the Shinigami Realm will be back to its original horrid self."

"How was it originaly?" he asked out of mild curiosity.

"Incredibly hot and full of some of the most gaudy architecture in existence; the remains of which you've seen. Also, skulls were much easier to find," she sighed. Light wasn't sure what she was talking about, considering nearly every nook and cranny in that realm had at least five human body parts. Bones were as common as sand, the rotted flesh usually picked clean by either deranged Death Gods or God knew what else. As he was thinking about bones, a certain other Shinigami came to mind. Dalil was intelligent, and perhaps she'd be more willing to help than Ryuk. Rem's last message had been bothering him quite a bit and Light found himself asking,

"Did you know Rem?"

"Rem?" Dalil tapped her exposed teeth briefly. "Not personally, but she was the white Shinigami made of bones, the one you killed, right?"

"That's right."

"Why do you need to know?" Light frowned, touching his lower lip in thought.

"The human I'm following is under this IABD seal," Light explained. "Did she mention something about making it to any of you?"

"IABD was only taught to high ranking Shinigami. The only ones besides The King who know it are Nu, myself and Armonia Justin Beyondormason. You know what that seal was for right?"

"Yes, but Rem knew I'd never sacrifice my life for anyone."

"Well, Shinigami are like humans in that we tend to do desperate things when we know we're dying. Rem's love for the human girl makes it clear that she'd never put her natural lifespan in danger and she was smart enough to know you didn't really care for her and possibly decided on the next best thing."

"But how did she know I'd become a Shinigami or that he and I would meet again?" Light said. Dalil paused for a moment, obviously trying to come up with a theory that made sense.

"Ryuk might have told her that he was going to recommend you to The King and I can't say it's unlikely that she simply hoped you two would meet," she offered.

"That…actually makes sense," Light concluded. There were plenty of times where Ryuk and Rem had come into contact with each other. Rem made it clear she was not fond of Light or Ryuk in the slightest, so maybe Ryuk had told her his plans in hopes to get a rise out of her. That did sound like something he might do.

"Well, glad I could be of service and there's no need to worry," the other Shinigami reassured.

"I know that," Light scoffed, crossing his arms. He felt his stomach sink as he caught sight of his hand. There was no turning back now. He was going to become a monster. He remembered the hunger that overcame him when he caught sight of the woman's numbers. He wouldn't have been able to stop himself from writing her name even if he had wanted to.

"Just don't fall in love with him."

"Excuse me?" Light asked incredulously, his attention returning to the other Shinigami.

"Consider it another friendly warning," she giggled. Light wrinkled his nose at the sound. It was, for lack of any other word, goofy. It was high-pitched with deeper undertones and came out as a "w_oohoo_."

"I'll be sure to log that away." He rolled his eyes. Dalil turned briefly as if she were about to leave, but froze, obviously remembering something, and she spun around quickly on her perch.

"Oh, and another thing before I go," Dalil said, facing him. "Now, I'm not trying to stick my head in where it doesn't belong, but I feel inclined to give you some advice." Light's eyes narrowed and he uncrossed his arms. Dalil caught the look and gave another one of her hearty "_woohoos_". "Now don't look at me like that, this is only advice, you can take it or leave it."

"Okay, shoot," Light offered, tilting his head and glaring into her sockets.

"No Shinigami who was previously human is warned of this, but I suggest if you want to remember your family or life as a human, you think of them often, because if you get too caught up in the present the past tends to get tired of being ignored and leaves."

"So you're saying if I don't reminisce, I'll forget," Light concluded, his narrowed eyes softening. That's how he forgot his sister's name, but his logical mind insisted that he had thought of her briefly right before it happened; that very same night to be exact. However, he knew that he hadn't _really _thought of her as a person, just that she listened to all the latest J-pop artists like Ryuga Hideki. It didn't seem to matter though, for there was one name he knew he'd never forget.

"_Chise is home, Raito!" _

"Good luck, Kira."

"Huh?" Light blinked, then catching sight of Dalil, regained his lost composure. "Well, thanks for the heads up. I won't fall in love with him or break anymore rules. You've done your job." Dalil gave one last chuckle.

"I'm rooting for you. I happen to have a lot of my jewels betted on your success, but we'll see."

With that, she slipped over the wall and disappeared into the dark sky. Light was rendered speechless that she even considered him falling in love with L a possibility. She was probably just trying to poke fun at him. Dalil did seem to enjoy jokes and Light was aware of her somewhat twisted sense of humor. The newborn simply rolled his eyes and pushed the odd statement out of his mind.

_We'll see my ass, _he thought. Spreading his wings tiredly, he began his search for L.

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"L, you have a call from Gevanni," Roger reported as Near stepped into the expensive car while fiddling with one of his green robots. The door slammed shut as Roger hurried into the driver's seat to avoid getting any wetter than he already was. The rain was pouring by the time Near was escorted out of the building, and Roger made sure to slam the door before withdrawing a cell phone from his suit pocket.

"Thank you, Roger," Near said, taking the device between thumb and forefinger. Still tinkering with the toy and wiping his damp face with the sleeve of his white dress shirt, he held the cell phone to his ear. "This is L. I apologize for canceling the laptop connection, but I had an appointment today."

"It's fine, L, but I got some pretty interesting information from this Mandy Kelly woman," Gevanni reported. Roger peered over his foggy glasses at Near briefly, then deciding it was best to wait until the conversation was over to say whatever was on his mind, he turned back around and started the car, pulling the tinted visor between them so the guards were unable to see Near's face. As the car exited the institution's parking lot, Near looked back out the window momentarily at the large maximum security facility. The rain pattered loudly on the hood of the car, and the detective allowed his eyes to glance up at the ominous black clouds that loomed over the giant building.

"What did you learn?" Near asked, facing the front again and studying the joints of the robot. The car stopped at the first checkpoint- a barbed wire fence, and Roger leaned out the window despite the rain to speak to the gun wielding guard. After a moment, the guard nodded and opened the steel enforced gate.

"She says the men were going to rape her, and when I saw her, she had a really nasty welt on the side of her face."

"I'm aware of that, along with the fact she refused medical care."

"Yes, and apparently from what she says she heard, another third party called out to the men to stop," Gevanni explained. "And they went after him."

"This all took place in an alley, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then calling out to them was a method of luring them out to see their faces," Near concluded. "The percent of this being another Kira is up to 68 percent, along with the fact the men simultaneously died of heart attacks."

"Yes, but Monroe had a history of heart issues," Gevanni informed. "He was on a regular aspirin regime."

"That may be true, but his partner had no history of heart related problems and to have both of them die of heart attacks right when they were about to sexually assault someone is just way too convenient. Along with the fact she heard a man's voice yell for them to stop, it's more than likely that it was Kira. Did she mention seeing a face or a glimpse of her rescuer?"

"She said that she didn't see anything, but the were men dead when she walked out of the alley." Near's eyes narrowed and he abandoned his toy to twist a lock of wet hair around his fingers.

"Let's just assume for argument's sake that this really is a new Kira. That's a definite sign that the person who yelled out was Kira. If they were just a good samaritan, then surely they would have stayed to make sure the woman was alright and offer to call an ambulance."

"Yeah, but.." Gevanni began hesitantly. "Maybe the fact the men just dropped dead frightened the person enough so that they ran away."

"Those men were hostile, so it's more likely that the person would feel relief or instinctively push themselves into denial rather than bolt. That behavior in itself is suspicious. Also, contrary to popular belief, humans tend to shy away from getting involved with situations that may cause danger to themselves. It goes back to the fact we're animals. Our own safety is what matters."

"So what you're saying is that the person wouldn't have had the courage to speak out unless they had an effective way to protect themselves," Gevanni figured.

"Yes, and what better way to protect yourself than to use a Death Note?" Roger stopped the car again at the final checkpoint. Near watched through the tinted windows as his assistant handed a card over to the guard. The burly man studied it briefly before he stepped into a booth and entered a combination. He silently made his way back to the driver's side after the metal gate parted, and returned the card to its owner. Finally, they were on their way to the main roads that would take them back to Winchester. The rain became increasingly louder as the car picked up speed, causing Roger to keep a slower pace.

"So do you think we should narrow our search attempts to Nottingham?" Gevanni asked.

"For now, but there's no doubt in my mind that this Kira will leave the area relatively soon."

"But what if it isn't Kira?"

"Well, you know how the saying goes, 'better to prepare for a hurricane and get a drizzle than to prepare for a drizzle and get a hurricane'."

"Hold on," Gevanni murmured quietly. Near heard the tapping of computer keys through the other line for roughly two minutes until Gevanni spoke again. "That's strange."

"What's strange?"

"I was looking through current news reports on the area, and found this article. I already e-mailed you a copy, but listen to this. Apparently, a man commited suicide today by stepping in front of an oncoming subway train."

"What's the strange part?"

"Well, his name was Brandon Goodwall and he was wanted by police for the murder of Eliza Coal and for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of her eight-year-old daughter, Elizabeth Coal. He was going under the alias, Simon Baxter and was on his way to the subway to begin his journey to leave the country. His name and face were sent over the news and on the internet where anybody could have seen him."

"I see," Near responded. "The percent that this is another Kira has risen to 80. We'll keep on as if this is an official case. If more criminals start dying, then I'll have the government publicly announce a second Kira and set up another task force. I doubt we need to worry about this Kira being as intelligent as Light Yagami, but we need to tread carefully nonetheless."

"Alright, so what do you want me to do?"

"Is Commander Rester there with you?"

"Yes."

"I want you both to look for any armature footage of the subway incident and send them to me. Look for anything suspicious and see if you can acquire any footage from the subway's own security cameras. If not, contact Hal Lidner and I'm sure she'll be able to get anything you need."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Gevanni concluded. "We're on it."

"I'll contact you again once we reach our destination," Near said. He pressed the red button, and hung up. Reaching for the tinted glass that separated he and Roger, Near slid it to the side, and dropped the cell phone in his assistant's waiting palm.

"What was that about?" the old man asked.

"That new Kira the media is buzzing about," he answered. "The percentage that it is another Kira is all the way up to 80, and if it reaches 100 percent, then we have to declare this another case."

"You know you don't have to do this," Roger stated quietly.

Near failed to find the meaning behind the comment, and much to his irritation was confused. Of course he didn't _have_ to find this Kira, but if he didn't volunteer, the world's justice systems would be hounding him day and night until he agreed anyway. Any mention of Kira, and every world leader wet their pants in fear. They'd come crawling to him with their tails between their legs begging for help, and besides, six months without an interesting case was enough to make the detective practically rejoice in the new challenge. So no, he didn't necessarily have to find Kira, but something told Near that Kira was the last thing on Roger's mind.

"What do you mean?"

"Forgive me if this is out of line since you _are _an adult now, but I'm sure you're aware of my feelings about you going to see him." Near frowned and sat back on the leather seat, glaring in annoyance at the back of Roger's head. So he was right, Kira wasn't on the old man's mind, but what was on his mind really wasn't any of his business.

"Did you just hear what I said? There's a high percent chance that another Kira is on the loose."

"I know, but that's not my concern right now. You're right that the chances of this Kira being as intelligent as Light Yagami are slim, so you should be able to locate him in no time. What I'm worried about is what you talk about with that man." Near let his eyes narrow even further until they were irritated slits. Roger caught the look in the rearview mirror and turned his attention back to the road, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. He leaned forward slightly and turned up the windshield wipers until they were racing across the glass in a single black blur.

"You know very well what happens in that room, Roger," Near said carefully, picking up his previously abandoned robot and bending its arm.

"I've managed to stay quiet about these visits and I'm not trying to change your mind or influence you in any way. I'm aware that you are an adult and have taken one of the greatest positions of power in the world, but I can't help it that sometimes I still think of you as a child. Nate-"

"L, please," Near interrupted. Roger's white brows furrowed slightly, but he continued as if he hadn't been cut across.

"I don't want him influencing you. He's incredibly intelligent, but also incredibly manipulative."

"You should give me more credit. I'm not six years old anymore," Near commented coldly. Roger sighed from the front seat, and dabbed his glistening forehead with a handkerchief he produced from his front pocket.

"Near, you've cut yourself off from everyone else and opening up to him of all people is possibly the worst thing you can do."

"I'm not," Near lied.

"L or Near, look, this is just how I feel," Roger paused for a moment, then added in a softer tone. "He's not L or Mello."

"I know that!" Near snapped, ripping the arm off the robot. Roger's surprised face glanced at him through the rearview mirror and Near felt his stomach sink. This wasn't like him at all.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking at the green piece of plastic in his hand. It looked so sad lying there in his palm, unattached to anything. It was in its own world thinking it was self reliant when really it was lonely and unloved. A piece of useless plastic without the rest. "That was rude of me." Roger continued to stare at him, his eyes flickering back to the road every few seconds. His expression was unusually and uncomfortably soft.

"When he and his brother came to the Wammy House, they were both the saddest things I've ever seen. It took Quillish nearly a year to get them to stand sleeping in different rooms. They were absolutely mentally shot, but eventually they recovered. I don't know how he did it, but Quillish was always a miracle worker when it came to you children."

Near knew it was true, for it was thanks to Quillish Wammy that he was now able to communicate with the Outside without fear or impatience. He was the one that coaxed Near far enough out of his own mind to be able to function somewhat normally. His kindly nature and patience had been reassuring in those days, and he had opened a hole in Near's world to allow him access to the Outside. "They almost seemed normal after awhile," Roger chuckled fondly at the memory, but after the brief break, his face returned to its usual seriousness. "I always knew there was something wrong with the little one though."

"_Guess what, Near! I met L today in person! He was so awesome and want's to start visiting me regularly. Funny, he didn't mention anything about you though."_

"You know as well as I do that I was never really that much of a 'kid person,' but the way he looked at everyone was just so...empty. That is, if he ever did look at them."

"_L really is a great guy. He's really nice too, he told me stories about past cases, like this one that took place in Los Angeles. You should know, that big city in America. Maybe he'd want to meet you too if you didn't just sit and stare at everybody or pretend they're not there."_

"Frankly, I wasn't surprised when he ran off. What does surprise me is how he managed to survive that suicide attempt. His brother was a fine man, but he never really lived up to those standards."

"_No matter how hard I try, Near is always better than me. I'm always just second best." _

"You don't have to listen to me, but I've known that child for a long time, and there's a reason he's in there for the rest of his life."

"_Obviously, Mello will get the death sentence if he is caught."_

"They were completely different, but even after his brother became who he was, the little one was never right. Charged with three counts of premeditated murder, and I have to say I was disappointed when Quillish informed me his brother pulled a few strings to lessen the sentence to life in prison."

"_Our destination is the same. I'll be waiting for you when you get there."_

"Thank you, Roger but I'm fine," Near stated quietly, his hand tightening around the robot's dislodged arm. "I can handle myself." Roger was still, and for what seemed like hours, only the loud pattering of the rain was audible along with the roaring engine.

"Very well, L," he sighed, breaking the suffocating quietness only once.

* * *

Well, who was that strange man Near was talking to? OOOOOOOOO! I hope you guys liked it despite the lack of L, but he'll return with the fury of a thousand angry women for Light leaving out a few things.

shout outs go to **AuraBlackWolf, xGloryHartx, fantasies4eva, and ChibiBoko for letting me know that it was Roger who became Near's Watari**


	8. Touch Life

Hello everybody. I really really appreciate all your feedback. Sorry that the last chapter was so Near based, but for plot's sake it had to be that way. There was important stuff in there. Did any of you catch it?

**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note **

**Betaed by the amazing tonieboo0013. Seriously guys worship her because without her this chapter would have never seen the light of day. **

* * *

"She got you pretty good didn't she?" the boy asked his younger brother, who now sat quietly on a chair in the kitchen. The eldest of the two children grabbed a stool and placed it under the refrigerator in order to reach the freezer. With a wash cloth in hand, he grabbed two ice cubes and wrapped them inside.

"She didn't like that I got an A- on the math test today," the younger sibling replied. His older brother sighed and hopped down from the stool.

"Here, hold this to it. It will relieve some of the swelling." The younger brother obeyed, and gingerly held the cloth to his battered lower lip, only his round eyes visible over the green cloth. It was amazing how much they looked alike, despite the fact the two boys were merely half brothers, but the eldest's instinctual protective behavior was still strong. "I did five points better than you," the older brother stated, his tone mildly frustrated. "You studied really hard. It's not everyday a nine-year-old skips two grades so he's in the same class with his big brother."

"Make sure the spreads get there by tomorrow or I will have your head!" a high feminine voice rang from the other room. "Federico will have all my photos along with the interviews from choice celebrities about the new dress line." The older brother watched as his sibling's expression twisted into one of pure revulsion. His fingers tightened visibly on the washcloth while the two listened to the agitated pacing of the woman. There was a tense silence for a moment until she screamed angrily. The older brother felt his heart break as his sibling flinched. He was always on edge whenever his mother was near. They heard the loud thuds of her stilettos pound up the stairs, followed by the slamming of a door.

"I hate her," the youngest stated after it became apparent that she would not emerge, his voice venomous. "I love it when she's away on her photo shoots." The older brother gave him a sorry look, and patted his sibling's shoulder.

"Hate is a really strong word. Dad says you're too young to hate anybody."

"Well _I_ do and I wish we had the same mom." The statement didn't surprise him. His little brother often said this, for he was stubborn and too young to understand the true concept of hate. Sure he was a genius when it came down to textbooks, but there were still aspects of the younger boy that were very much like a child. The elder brother's eyes softened as he stared down at the boy, who dutifully held the ice cubes over his bloody lip. The eldest had never known his mother. She had died when he was only two. There were no pictures or fond memories; only stories their father told them.

"Diva cares about you," he tried to say, but the look the younger sibling gave said that even he knew it was a lie.

"She cares about me when I'm better than you. If not, she just yells at me," he mumbled into the cloth.

"You'll do better next time," he reassured, giving a half-hearted smile. "Dad gets home tomorrow too, and we can eat those cupcakes Diva gave you." The younger boy merely looked down to the expensive white tile. Obviously, today's events left his little half brother emotionally drained and exhausted.

The older brother remembered the way his stepmother pushed her son down on the ground where he had banged his mouth on the corner of the coffee table. After her son started screaming, her blue eyes widened in disbelief, as if she couldn't comprehend what she'd done. The oldest son had glared at the woman from the other room, hating her and her false cooing of:

"Mommy only does these things because she loves you. She just wants you to be better."

Then she'd make him something to eat as if to say "I'm sorry." In his eleven-year-old brain, he knew that a part of Diva really did love her son, but all that meant nothing when she acted the way she did.

He hated the way she treated his little brother when he didn't reach her impossible expectations. He often found the child passed out over textbooks, a pencil still poised in his hand in the midst of solving several arithmetic problems. His brother studied constantly, hardly ever going outside to play. It wasn't healthy, and though he knew his sibling was a genius, even he had his limits.

"It still stings, Onii-chan," the little brother complained.

"You're practicing Japanese, huh?" the older brother observed. "It's because dad is half, right?"

"Yeah, she's making me learn all these languages, says I have to start early so my pronunciation is correct."

"Dad is teaching me some too, but don't talk too much; it will only make the stinging worse."

His brother nodded and kept quiet, leaning over until his forehead pressed against the older sibling's chest. The eldest's expression became saddened and he patted the back of his little brother's head. "It will all be okay," he lied.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a while L began to think that Light might have miraculously vanished, but his hopes were shattered when the Shinigami came floating through the front of the store. At first L thought about simply hiding in the supply closet, but remembered what Light said about being able to find him anywhere through the Death Note. Instead, he forced himself to wait until Light halted before him, his expression reminding L of a puppy that piddled on the floor.

The handsome Shinigami's shoulders were hunched and his head hung forward as if it were too heavy for his neck. His usually annoyingly cheerful brown eyes were downcast and dull, but the main thing was how exhausted Light looked. For six days L was aware that the Death God didn't sleep, but Light never appeared to fall victim to exhaustion. As the Death God hovered dejectedly towards him, he knew something happened while they had been separated.

"What did you do?" he found himself asking. Light's eyes flashed in annoyance and his brows knitted together in a frown.

"I killed someone." L clutched the broom he was holding so hard he thought his knuckles were going to burst right out of his hands.

"What?" he hissed through his teeth. "Are you joking? Please tell me you're joking." Light only stared at him, his expression grim.

"It was a woman named Beatrice Wilcott," Light informed, his voice heavy. The way he spoke made L's anger fade considerably, but he was obviously still glaring, for after a second Light snapped.

"I had to kill her! I'm a newborn so I needed lifespan! Besides, she was able to see me!" L eyes widened at this, and he knelt down on the floor, pretending to clean up a spill. Light got the gist of what L was trying to accomplish and followed him down to the floor.

"I thought you said that I was the only one who could see you!"

"Anyone who touches the Death Note is able to see me," Light explained.

"You didn't mention this before. Why?" L asked, remembering how the sick-looking woman had handed him back the notebook when he dropped it. For once, Light seemed at loss for words, but there was something different altogether about him. He did look positively worn out, and though it was faint, L could make out the fine etchings of dark circles under his eyes. His gaze simply slid to the side, breaking contact with L.

"I didn't think about it," Light finally said. "Sorry." Did Light really just sincerely apologize? L had to admit that this sudden new change was disturbing. Light had gone from absolute terror, to supportive companion, then finally to this abused looking creature all in under a week. "I… She wanted to die."

"I don't think anybody wants to die, Light," L stated. Light still refused to look at him and for a moment he appeared older than he really was. It wasn't as if he had aged to the point where he looked like an old man, but in a way that made him more mature; and to L's disdain, incredibly beautiful.

"It was different with her," Light murmured, finally meeting L's eye. There was something new present. Had killing someone really changed Light so much? L had so many questions to ask, but now was not the right time, not in the middle of his workplace.

"We'll talk later," L decided, standing up to continue his sweeping. He began to work his way down the aisle, noticing vaguely that he was surrounded by the glossy bags of different flavored potato chips.

"Lawliet?" L turned, and to his horror found Light floating directly behind him, holding out a bag of barbeque chips in one hand right in the middle of the aisle. L panicked briefly and snatched the bag away, glancing around to make sure nobody had noticed.

"Did you leave your brain out somewhere today?" L asked condescendingly.

"I want them," Light stated, completely ignoring L's previous statement. The dark haired man's face fell into its usual bored expression and his dark eyes traveled from the shiny bag of barbeque chips to the Shinigami.

"You want these?" He let his thumb travel to his teeth.

"I hate repeating myself."

"I don't have the money," L concluded, placing the bag back on its proper rack. Continuing his to sweep again, L froze as he heard the crackling of a bag directly behind him. "Light!" he cried, spinning around sharply, yanking it away again. Light merely stared at him, his brown eyes round and innocent. If L didn't know any better, he'd say that the Death God was giving him the 'puppy dog eyes'. "I told you I don't have the money to spend on junk food. It goes directly into rent, then whatever's left goes into food, and if I'm lucky, possibly some books."

"You eat junk food too," Light countered. L only spared him a quick glance before returning the chips to their rightful place.

"Sugar is not junk," he corrected. "Things that are fried and dripping with grease are junk. Besides, potato chips are horrible for your complexion." L was about to make his way around to the organic food aisle, when the now irritatingly loud sound of a potato chip bag rustling brought his attention behind him once more. Light was now waving the bag around, a pleading smile on his face. L wasn't swayed, and once again confiscated it.

"Come on, Lawliet, have a heart," Light said, tilting his head to the side.

_Oh for the love of what's left of my sanity, he's giving me the cute face, _L thought. Light's eyes were back to bearing the same false naivety, while his soft pink lips were slightly pursed. L refused to be bought. If he gave in now, Light would have all the control in the world and what miniscule amount of respect the Shinigami showed for him would be tossed out the window. At least this little display showed that Light was still himself, though that wasn't necessarily a good thing. "No, I told you I have no money for this."

"Jerk," Light muttered.

Seeing a large piece of caramel toffee trampled into the floor, L sighed and crouched down to scrape it off.

"Why don't you go stay in the oriental aisle? It might make you feel more at home or something," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the dried candy slowly peeled away from the already grimy tile.

"I find that racist!" Light exclaimed, landing heavily in front of L frowning.

"Well excuse me," L muttered apathetically, standing once the floor was relatively clean. "They sell these little sticks with chocolate on them. I believe it's called 'pocky'. That's a nice Japanese snack. Wouldn't you prefer pocky to barbeque flavored chips? And pocky is really cheap."

"I don't like pocky," Light stated, stubbornly crossing his arms. "It's too sweet for my tastes."

"Sweets didn't seem to bother you when you were stuffing your face with Mrs. Snow's cookies."

"Yeah, but those were good. Pocky only makes my stomach hurt."

"Always have to be difficult," L concluded, walking around him and continuing to sweep, pulling the cart of cleaning supplies behind him. The Shinigami's immaturity didn't really surprise him…but what was that all too familiar ruffling noise behind him did. L felt his irritation rise and spill over. The Death God was worse than a child, and apparently had never heard the word 'no' before.

"For the last time, I'm not buying you chips!" L snapped, whirling around and ripping the bag away from a very smug Light.

"Sam!" a deep voice shouted from behind him. L felt himself tense at the use of his other name. Light was positively grinning from ear to ear, and L was sure to give him his most lethal death stare before stiffly turning around.

"Hello, Mr. Adams," he greeted, unable to bring himself to smile.

"Come on now, Sam. You've worked here for how long now and I still have to remind you to just call me Jim," the man chuckled deeply. Mr. Adams, or rather, Jim, was a middle aged man with short cropped black hair and a thick caterpillar of a mustache. Heavy set with a protruding gut that jiggled over the belt of his black uniform pants, he had a habit for shouting everything he said and was overbearingly friendly. Unfortunately, he was also the owner of the store and L had to deal with his chipper attitude and spine-cracking backslaps.

"Wow, Jim looks like he needs to trade in the doughnuts for some running shoes," Light commented. L was forced to ignore him as Jim spoke up again.

"What have I said about manhandling the merchandise?" he bellowed, placing his pudgy hands on his wide hips.

"Not to do it?" L said, wanting nothing more than for him to waddle away on other business. To his displeasure, his boss let out a deep laugh that made his eardrums ache. From the corner of his eye, he found Light was trying not to laugh by covering his mouth with one hand.

"Of course!" Jim yelled merrily, painfully pounding L on the back with an open palm. L braced himself against his broom until Jim ceased his painful display of affection and smiled again. "What's this? We're missing something today! In fact, we've been missing it all week!"

"What? A proper diet?" Light asked as he lazily glided above the pair. L hadn't even been aware that he'd left his previous position and shot a quick glare up at him. "Be careful Lawliet, this is your future if someone gives you a constant supply of sweets."

"Look who's talking," L muttered under his breath.

"Oh, what did you say, Sam? Sorry, my hearing's not up to par," Jim chirped.

"Nothing," L assured.

"Okay! Now where's your uniform?" He waved a sausage like finger in L's face, playfully scolding him.

"The Laundromat must have let it get stolen again," he answered, glancing up at the ceiling to find the Death God grinning down at him. At that moment, L hated him with every fiber of his being. How dare he float up there and smile like this was a funny sitcom?

"Really?" Jim sounded confounded, and he placed a thick hand under his double chin. "That's the fifteenth one. You know that part of town you call home isn't very safe." Little did L's boss know, that really L had thrown away all those uniforms because of how humiliating they were to wear: a bright yellow vest with a chubby duck on the front claiming, _High prices are quacked! _Not to mention the stupid baseball cap with the store's logo on the top.

"I'm aware, but what can one do?" L shrugged, hoping to return to his work but knew that the idea was a wistful fantasy. Once Jim Adams wanted a conversation, he got one whether he had to squeeze it out of someone or not. L had managed to avoid him for six days, but he had started to let his guard down, and now this was the price.

"I can't count how many times the missus has invited you to stay with us. I've known you for how many years now?"

"Oh, I could never intrude on your wife's hospitality, Mr. Adams," L said with all the false respect he could muster. If Mr. Adams was bad, his wife was ten times worse. The few times the woman came to bring her husband dinner, she had flirted with all the young male employees, including him. L knew he wasn't remarkably attractive, but neither was Mrs. Adams; physically or personality wise. Having no respect for personal boundaries, she constantly leaned into people's faces to talk, and her breath often smelled like peanut butter and vodka. L figured she and her husband's overly friendly behavior was what brought them together, and living in the same house with the couple was probably the closest he'd get to the epicenter of hell on earth.

"Jim, my boy, call me Jim!" he bellowed. L let his pinky twist around in his ear in attempts to soothe his aching eardrum.

"Yeah, his name is Jim," Light laughed, landing behind the larger man.

"Anyway, I've got something that will make your day!" Jim chuckled, reaching into the fanny pack that was on the verge of exploding off his giant stomach. L had a sick feeling about what it was, but found himself asking hopefully anyway,

"My paycheck?" This earned another laugh from Jim and a snide comment from Light.

"Oh you are too much, Sam!" he yelled, slapping L in the back again and causing the smaller man to stumble against his broom.

"What's this guy trying to do, cripple you?" Light asked; that annoyingly smug smile still on his face. "You know, if you'd have only bought me chips then Buddha wouldn't have waddled his way over here."

_You are an asshole, _L thought to himself as Jim pulled out that horrid yellow vest from the black fanny pack. The Shinigami instantly burst into a fit of laughter and Jim gave his usual cheeky grin.

"Here you are, make sure those damn teenagers don't get a hold of this one!" The accursed anthropomorphic duck was smiling at him from the horrible yellow fabric, as if to say, _You cannot escape me!_

"Oh, wonderful," L said weakly, taking the vest and putting it on over his white shirt. Light was still laughing, and as if to add insult to injury, Jim once again reached into his pack and withdrew the equally horrible hat to go along with it. "And you got the hat."

"Yup, now you're part of the family again, Sam!" he cheered, again slapping L on the back as if to staple the point there. Jim took it upon himself to put the hat on for L and stepped back as if to admire a painting he had just created. "You look great! A little skinny, but I'll be sure to have the missus make you some of that cheesecake you like so much!"

"Thank you," L tried in vain to smile, hoping it would satisfy his overbearing boss, but his face muscles refused to cooperate. Jim turned around as if to leave, but then faced L again.

"Oh, and before I forget, Steve had a little venture to the loo today, but missed the toilet." At this point, Light keeled over, holding his sides in agony as he laughed.

"This is too much!" he gasped in pain. L felt his eye twitch slightly at the image.

"I'll be right on it," he promised through grit teeth.

"You're a good lad," Jim smiled, giving him a thumb's up. "Just give the place a good bleach wash when you're done!"

And so the night went on. But what was even more humiliating was that after his shift was through, L walked out of the store carrying a large bag of barbeque potato chips along with the Death Note, a cackling Shinigami floating behind him.

"I can't believe I actually bought you these," he sighed. "There goes a pound out of my book savings."

"That uniform is priceless!" Light laughed. "High prices are quacked!"

"Yes, I get it. It's very humorous," he said dully. "What kind of Japanese person eats barbeque flavored chips?" Light stopped laughing at this and gave his companion an odd look.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, it's just that I thought your people ate things like rice, sushi, and pocky," L explained. "I wouldn't know, I don't think I've ever been to Japan."

"But you know Japanese," Light pointed out.

"Yeah, not sure how to explain that. But if I've ever been to Japan I don't remember, so I apologize if stereotypes are all I have to rely on."

"Well, I'll have you know that barbeque chips were my brain food when I studied for all my exams in college."

"So they do sell chips in Japan," L mused.

"Well, of course they do. We're not some isolated tribe of people in a third world country, Lawliet. Of course we have western food, just like you have Asian food. We also have banks, cities, government, schools-"

"Alright, I get it," L found himself chuckling despite the fact he wasn't feeling humorous in the slightest.

"It's not my fault that you seem to think all Japanese people survive off of sushi and rice then shed their human skin and breathe dryer lint."

"That has to be the second stupidest thing I've heard you say all night," L said pointedly.

"Really, I was merely making an exaggeration of how different you think we are. What was the first?" Light asked, hovering down closer until his head was over L's shoulder.

"The first what?"

"The stupidest thing I've said all night?"

"Well, let me think. It's a tie between '_I want chips' _and _'Anyone who touches the Death Note can see me so I'm going to tell you now, after I've killed someone, to make this mess you're in even more of an inconvenience_'," L quoted using the dopiest sounding voice he could think of to mimic the Death God.

"I don't sound like that and I've never said that!" Light snapped.

"No, but you may as well have," L countered. Light glared momentarily, but quickly pursed his lips and looked away.

"Sorry, a lot has been going on, okay? I told you I'm new at this." His tone sounded so defeated that L felt a momentary rush of pity, just like the night before. Maybe he was being a little rough. L could only imagine what it was like floating around all day, unable to be seen by anybody but a person who strongly disliked you. Sure, Light had brought it upon himself, but L wondered if he just needed to be the bigger person and find a way to channel all of Light's boredom into something more productive. While L worked, all the Shinigami could accomplish was to fly around in circles, complain, slap poor, rocking Steve in the back of the head, and generally make a nuisance of himself.

Light obviously had been young and intelligent before he died, and now having nothing to do turned his behavior destructive. L remembered waking up on the third night of the Shinigami's stay to find Light absentmindedly ripping pages out of his encyclopedia collection while singing those terrible J-pop tunes.

_I guess it's not his fault he's so bored. Maybe I should try to be a little more accommodating, _L thought, feeling a bit guilty. He knew exactly how boredom ate away at a person's sanity since he himself had been living as such for five years until he found the Death Note.

"Japan is one of the largest trading countries of the world," L figured aloud in attempts to lighten the mood. "Have you been there since…you know?" L watched as Light's expression darkened even further; much like how it looked when he first entered the store.

"No," he answered, voice flat. "I haven't."

_So much for lightening the mood, _L thought. Making a mental note that reminded him of how truly terrible he was at cheering people up, he asked aloud, "You're feeling a bit nostalgic?" He repositioned the bag of chips so that he was able to place his thumbnail between his teeth, returning to his usual hurriedly paced walking as they neared the bridge.

"A little," Light admitted. L only gave a slight nod, knowing exactly how the Shinigami felt. Though a lot had happened since he woke up, all through the night he'd been thinking about the three children and his twin. Mello, the blond, seemed to be the most important, for he came with the information about Los Angeles and the strange BB person. However, the other two also took up their fair share of L's thoughts.

The mysterious redhead who enjoyed what was shaped like a video game was the one L knew virtually the least about. He hadn't heard the child's voice or seen any part of him or her other than the hair color, and that made him feel strangely guilty. Guilty perhaps, because he found himself far more interested in the albino. He knew that child was the youngest, but the level of maturity in his or her voice was unbelievable.

L wondered briefly if the only reason they weren't looking for him was because they thought _he _was dead. If that were the case, he pondered if they missed him and if they were sad that he was gone. Surely they felt something for him, especially since he appeared to be their father or at least close to them. L felt his heart sink as he calculated the possibility only being in the five percent range. No, it was more than likely the children were the ones dead. L decided to turn his thoughts away from the matter. It only upset and frustrated him to try and fit together the disjointed pieces.

"I can't remember the last time I had a bag of chips, so I guess I should thank you," Light spoke up, obviously noticing L's silent turmoil. Though L was sure he hid the fact he was thinking about such troubling issues, he had come to accept Light's perceptiveness and was somewhat grateful for the change in topic.

"Apologize is more suitable. You have no idea how much I despise that man." L nearly had the urge to shudder. "That plan of yours was just evil."

"All I did was time you snatching the chips away to when he walked around the corner," Light said.

"Explaining how you did it is not the same as an apology," he responded, keeping his wide dark eyes trained ahead, scanning the streets for danger.

"It's called doing something nice for someone else," Light teased. "A good deed." L didn't answer as they neared the point where the trip to the bus stop got dangerous. Last night really shook him, and now he clutched the Death Note even tighter to his chest, the plastic chip bag ruffling in response. Every so often, he imagined hearing hushed voices following closely behind, but every time he twisted his head around, all that was behind him was Light, who at the moment was watching him with mild concern.

"You're acting like someone is following you," he commented.

"Can't be too careful," L responded, continuing on, his shoulders hunched more than usual. Passing the very alley where the woman was assaulted, L felt a jolt of fear spike through him, but found the gap between the two buildings empty except for a dumpster and a pile of old boxes. The paramedics had long since removed the bodies of the two men, and the police gathered any evidence they needed the night before. Still, the yellow caution tape remained, and he kept to the opposite side of the street, his skin breaking into goose bumps as he warily crept by.

"I need to tell you something important," Light said after a moment. L stopped walking, but didn't respond; knowing that doing so was useless. The Shinigami was going tell him either way. "I've just been informed," Light began loudly, glaring upwards at the sky. L tilted his own head back in attempts to spot what Light was yelling at, but found the night to be empty except for a few moths ramming their heads into the bulbs of the overhanging streetlights. "that I can't tell you people's names anymore."

L returned his gaze to the Death God, a sense of exasperation nearly overtaking him. Light really must have been new at this if he was leaving so many rules out. If it wasn't one thing it was always something else, but he quickly stuffed the feeling to the back of his head. L wasn't one to usually let his emotions get the best of him when it was his brain that was needed. Getting frustrated when he could easily find a way around the hiccup was a waste of time.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he stated simply, beginning to walk again.

"Seriously?" Light asked in disbelief. "I just dropped a bombshell and all you can say is that 'it's unfortunate'?"

"There's not much else to say about it, but there's no need for me to worry," L reassured as the bench that symbolized the halfway mark to the bus station came into view. L stayed away from the few people they met, eyes glued to the pavement until he sat himself on the bench, feet drawn under him. There was still enough time to make it there and it was apparent that L was on the verge of simply passing out on the sidewalk.

"We just need to figure out where to hide the Death Note and how I'm going to get names." L let his thumb travel to his mouth in thought, his black eyes narrowing as his brain began to churn for possible solutions. "Priority number one is finding a hiding place, since I can't be seen carrying this around everywhere I go. I have another thirteen days before I need to write again." L thought a bit longer, glad that no one was around. "Light, if I tear a piece off the Death Note and write names on it, will it still work?"

"Yes it will," Light answered, his own fingers toying with the cross around his neck. "Can you sew?" L frowned at the question, finding it odd.

"No, but if you think learning will help, I'll be sure to consider it."

"Well, there's no need to really learn because I already know how," Light explained. L continued to gnaw on his thumbnail, trying to see where the Shinigami was going. It took him a moment, but an idea slowly started to form in his mind.

"What if I cut a hole in the wall of my room?" L thought aloud. "I also happen to have a lot of books, so if there was a way I could undo the binding and place a page of the Death Note inside a real book, I'd have another place to write."

"So you're saying you'd put the main notebook in the wall, and hide pages in your other books," Light concluded. "Very good, and I should tell you that the pages in the notebook will never run out. Also, though you have to write a person's name on the same page, the cause of death can be written anywhere in the Death Note and will work as long as you have the cause of death in mind when you're writing a name."

"So if I tear a page out, another one will grow in its place, and I can separate the cause of death from the person's name." L smiled to himself. Though the idea was hazy, with a little more sleep he was sure to have a solid lead to consider by tomorrow. "The only problem is sewing the pages into the other books. Also, I'd have to keep a page with me at all times, but I can easily fold one up and stuff it in my back pocket."

"Good thinking, and leave the sewing to me," Light assured. "All I need is a needle and thread and I'm at your service." L's mind continued to go crazy with ideas, eager to make up for all the time it spent doing nothing. In a strange way, this actually felt good. He was planning to make the world a better place; not perfect, but better.

"So I can count on you to sew several hundred pages into each encyclopedia?"

"It will be tough, and I'll have to study the kind of binding used, but I'll do my best," Light promised eagerly.

"Perhaps I should hide the main notebook in the ground; bury it," L said. "I know the perfect place, too. There's a loose brick in the back of the building of the homeless shelter. I found it when I was wandering around kicking at the wall and thought it'd be a good place to hide something. I'll go out and buy you a needle and thread tomorrow morning so you can sew the pages."

"Okay, so you're hiding it behind a loose brick. How are you going to get names?" Light asked, landing on the bench so that he was sitting next to L, his own eyes narrowed in thought.

"I could use the news for awhile." Light frowned, his face deep in concentration.

"For awhile, but L is going to pursue this like a bat out of hell. He might start broadcasting fake reports." L thought about this as well, and suddenly came to the conclusion that he had to find a different route to work. It'd be way too suspicious if he continued walking the path that led directly to where 'Kira's First Murder' took place. The reports all blabbed about the woman hearing a man's voice yell out, and he'd be labeled a suspect in no time unless he changed his route.

"First things first, I need to ensure my own safety before I get too far into this," L said in a near whisper as a group of two singing men supported by an annoyed older woman stumbled by. "Can you find me a new way to work?" L turned so that he was watching the Shinigami.

"Yeah, anything you need," Light said. L nodded, so far so good. The Death God did seem compliable to his requests. Maybe this wasn't going to be as hard as he thought it would be. Getting up from his perch, L began the rest of the trek to the bus station. Once they arrived, he and Light didn't bother to make small talk. The human gladly enjoyed the silence. Once L saw the approaching headlights of the bus, he sighed with weariness, happy to finally be off his feet. The bus halted before him, the tires squealing and door opening to reveal a portly woman who reminded L vaguely of an English bulldog.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," L honestly admitted.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Light watched as L instantly collapsed on his bed in a tired heap. Not even bothering to remove the horrible yellow vest, the ex-detective reached up to remove the hat, tossing it to the corner of the room where Light was sure it would remain forgotten. After a moment in which the human simply laid still, L seemed to remember that he was still holding Light's potato chips and blindly tossed them at the Shinigami's head.

"Knock yourself out," he said wearily. The bag sailed through Light's head and smacked against the wall behind him. Light didn't mind the rather rude gesture, and went to work opening the bag. His newly formed right hand made it easier, and in no time there was a freshly formed slit in the top of the bag.

Light felt his stomach gurgle painfully at the sight of food, his mouth watering slightly. He hadn't even been aware of how hungry he was; remembering the last thing he ate was the doughnut from last night. Light dug into his favorite snack hungrily, his stomach instantly soothing itself as the food entered it. Completely focused on ending his hunger, it wasn't until he heard a loud gasp that he looked up to find L staring at him.

"What?" he asked, popping another chip in his mouth. The satisfying crunches stopped abruptly as soon as the ex-detective opened his mouth.

"Your…h-hand," he stuttered, one long finger pointing to the blackened mess that was attached to Light's wrist. Light also stared the hand, nearly forgetting that it was there. Why did L have to bring it up? Light had simply covered it with his sleeve and forgot all about it. Now that it was in the open, the Shinigami couldn't take his eyes off of it.

"It's the beginning of my… transformation," he finished, swallowing roughly. His mouth suddenly felt very dry and he made a mental note to take a visit to the showers to get a drink.

"It looks terrible," L whispered. Light snapped his head up prepared to yell, but found that L's expression was sad, almost regretful. Though Light was hypersensitive when it came to people looking down on him, he sensed nothing of the sort coming from L. In fact, the ex-detective seemed to be nearly grieving for him, and rather than become revolted, he felt strangely grateful. Still, L didn't have to know that.

"Don't look at me like that," Light scoffed, crossing his arms. "It happens when you start to kill. There's no avoiding it." In the last sentence, his confident façade wavered and he sighed, eyes returning to his black hand.

"So you're telling me you've never killed anybody before?" L questioned. Light looked at him again and found L sitting in his usual crouch, teeth munching on his thumb, black eyes piercing. The softness that was there before had completely vanished. Light wasn't sure what caused the sudden shift in mood, but the question was a general statement. L wasn't just talking about his time as a Shinigami, but as a human too.

"No, I've never killed anybody in my life," Light responded, his tone casual. "I've made plenty of arrests, believe me, but I've never had to kill anybody." He watched as L's usually empty eyes burned into his own, his nail snapping dully as his teeth bit through it.

"You mean you wanted me to start killing when _you've_ never killed anybody before?" The Death God didn't like where this was going, and he noticed that L's facial expression had formed into one that was terribly scornful.

"Are you calling me a hypocrite?" Light asked.

"I'm calling you something."

"Look, I've always known Kira was right, and I have _wanted_ to kill a few criminals I've caught -"

"Yes, but you decided to kill an innocent woman instead," L retorted, cutting across Light. At this, Light felt what little patience he had slip away. Standing up abruptly, he marched over to where the human crouched on top of his cot.

"You don't know anything about that!" he snarled, grabbing the front of L's shirt and yanking him up so that he could glare directly into those soulless black pits. "I took part of her life into me because I had to! She was suffering! Shinigami killing people and people killing people are two totally different things!" L remained unfazed by Light's outburst and merely continued his statue-like glare. Light growled lowly and clenched his other hand, pulling it back so it appeared he was about to punch the human. The Shinigami felt his eyes turn red as they narrowed into angry slits, but L's attention drifted away from Light's menacing face to his readied fist.

"You're going to punch me in the face with that thing when I can't even defend myself?" he questioned, his own eyes narrowing slightly. L's lack of fear and the way he referred to his fist as a 'thing' made Light even more angry, and he felt his hand tremble slightly with rage.

"You have no idea what this feels like, so don't you dare call me any sort of name!" Light hissed through his teeth. He jerked the front of L's shirt so that their faces were merely inches apart.

"Well, then why don't you tell me what it feels like so I can understand," L suggested, letting one hand rest over Light's wrist. The Shinigami let out an irate huff of air, but released the ex-detective's shirt nonetheless and lowered his fist. Taking a few steps away, he continued to glare at L, the roaring fury in his head slowing into a dull pulsating anger.

"It…It's complicated," he finished lamely.

"I've got time." Light sighed in frustration, letting his normal hand massage his temples in annoyance.

"Look, it's not something I can fully explain," he said truthfully. For once Light was at loss for how to interpret what he was feeling. Though the Death God never really dealt with true emotions, he did understand them, knowing how act them out perfectly and genuinely. He had done so plenty of times with Misa, but this feeling was too complex to put into words. It wasn't regret (he _had _needed her lifespan) but it certainly wasn't satisfaction either.

"Do your best," L persisted, tilting his infuriating head to the side.

"I feel, kind of hollow," Light admitted, looking down at the monster hand. For once, he was telling the truth, and the concept was so foreign that Light found himself unable to speak.

"That's it?" L asked dully after a few minutes of awkward silence, letting his thumb slide between his lips.

"What do you want me to say?" Light snapped in irritation. "That I feel like crying like a damn school girl? Because that would be lie! I don't know, okay? I don't feel good, but I don't feel bad either!" He paused to let out another harsh sigh before continuing more calmly. "It doesn't really matter how I feel though. The point is I needed lifespan because I only have a couple days left on my own. For a Shinigami it's different from when a human writes a name because humans really gain nothing from doing it. Shinigami take part of that human's life inside of them. I guess what I'm trying to say is that when a Shinigami writes a human's name it's more intimate, for lack of a better term."

"Intimate," L repeated curiously, letting his eyes roll upwards as if to consider it.

"Yeah, that's part of the reason you usually don't have a human-born Shinigami playing Kira, plus along with a few other limits." Light recalled all this from Ryuk's explanation of what to expect when writing his first name. Apparently it would be different for him since he was once a human. Unlike Midora, Nu, Justin, Ryuk, Dalil, or the other forgettable Death Gods who were born as Shinigami, Light was what they called a human-spawned newborn. Basically, it meant that along with the pain of transformation, he'd also have to deal with the mental strain of absorbing the life of something he once was.

"So there are two kinds of Shinigami?" L asked, obviously interested.

"Yeah, those that are born as Shinigami, and the less common ones reborn from the souls of deceased humans."

"And you're the latter," L concluded. "I have to say that this is rather fascinating."

"Fascinating," Light repeated, crossing his arms and letting his back rest against the opposite wall. "It sucks. You have no idea how complicated it is being a newborn, let alone one that was human-spawned. I'm not really your emotional puddle, but because I was human once I have to deal with the mental shock of surviving off of something that was once my own species."

"And you've just figured all this out from writing one name?"

"Unfortunately," Light muttered. "One of my…acquaintances explained all this to me, but now that I've actually written my first name the knowledge kind of comes back."

"You have a habit of forgetting the important facts don't you?" L questioned bluntly.

"Shut up!" Light snarled. "How would you like to be shot to death then brought back to become something you didn't even believe in? Then, on top of that, you have to remember all these rules about lifespan and Death Notes?" L seemed to contemplate for a moment before answering,

"That does seem pretty overwhelming."

"I assure you it is," Light growled, letting himself slide down against the wall until he was sitting down next to the bookcase.

"We shouldn't fight," L stated quietly after a moment of heated silence. "Just tell me exactly what happened when they informed you about not being able to tell me names." Light thought about refusing just to be difficult, but knew it would get him nowhere. L did have a right to know what transpired, and if Light decided to clam up, L would never trust him. So suffocating his stubbornness, he told L of Dalil's visit, excluding the IABD seal and that he only had six months to live. L listened to it all, nodding every now and then to show he was comprehending everything.

"So that's it," Light finished, returning to eating his chips. Reaching out a hand to the bookshelf, he withdrew one of the huge encyclopedias. It was one of the few he hadn't desecrated with his boredom-induced page ripping. Head tilted to the side, he ran his fingers over the binding and opened the book, studying every stitch and thread.

"How did you kill her?" L asked, the silent anger in his eyes trickling away as he remembered her. Light felt something squirm in his stomach at the question. All the barbeque chips he had consumed in the past few minutes suddenly didn't want to agree with him. The way she simply fell off the side of the bridge replayed in his head like security footage stuck on a loop; her body making that awful noise as it hit the concrete below.

"I had her jump off the bridge." There was a soft intake of breath from L, who released it gently after only a few seconds. Light stared blankly at the encyclopedia, the black claws of his right hand gently running over the page. "I can feel her, you know," he whispered. "Because I took her life into me, I can feel her. I know why she wanted to die." Light looked up to find L staring at him, but the vicious look had changed again. It wasn't as understanding as before nor was it friendly, but it wasn't angry either. Light wasn't sure what it was, and it made him uncomfortable. "Please stop looking at me like that." It nearly came out as a plea, and Light winced at how pathetic he sounded.

"I'm sorry," L murmured. Light looked up to find the human lying on his side, his expression weary. "I can only imagine how hard it is." Light was taken aback by this, his eyes widening. Again there was no pity, only empathy. The Shinigami knew he shouldn't have been surprised, since L wasn't the kind of person to pity anybody, but there was a certain amount of respect in his tone that was incredibly satisfying. It was as if L knew exactly what he was going through, even though Light knew it wasn't possible.

"What do you mean?"

"Every time you write, you look more like a monster. That has to be hard, especially for you," he chuckled lightly. Light felt that feeling extinguish like a candle sprayed by a fire extinguisher. Then, blowing a stream of air from between his lips, he rolled his eyes and returned to his previous activity.

"Here I thought you were being nice," he chided. "By the way, I can definitely stitch this." There was no answer for a moment, and Light was surprised to hear the sound of gentle breathing instead of the usual snide remark. Returning his gaze to the human, he found L's dark rimmed eyes closed, thumb still in his mouth. Light ran his good hand through his hair and sighed.

Standing up, he flipped the light switch off out of courtesy and returned to his sitting position on the floor. His eyes instantly adjusted to the dark, and he pulled his knees to his chest, letting his arms loop around them. Now if only he was able sleep and make time flow by. It wasn't that he was unable to do so, but to Shinigami sleep meant laziness, and to Light Yagami, laziness might as well have been one of the seven deadly sins.

Taking out his Death Note, Light flipped it open absentmindedly to the next clean page; the page empty of Beatrice Wilcott's name. Retrieving a pen from his holster, he drew a circle sporting a smiley face and began to color the edges. After a few more minutes of thoughtless doodling, Light felt his mind begin to wander into the darker areas of his conscious. Trying in vain to force it to stay focused on the little circle, it became apparent that his thoughts had other plans. A nagging feeling in the back of his head demanded he think about his sister's name, but Light was reluctant. However, he gave in after the persistent feeling intensified. Letting his brown eyes slide shut, in his mind, he imagined his sister's face.

Letting his eyelids open, he wrote the name that came to mind under his sloppy smiley face. _Chise, _the pen wrote. That wasn't it though. Light grit his teeth in annoyance. He had to have her name stored somewhere in his oversized brain. The Death God knew her face: the way she parted her long hair to the side, and her brown eyes that matched his own. _Chise, _he wrote it again. That wasn't her name. Light sighed, and let the back of his head bump against the wall behind him. He knew who Chise was and Chise was not the sister he was thinking about.

He roughly scribbled over both names, eyes narrowed dangerously. Light knew everything about the girl he was thinking about. She was kind, looked up to him, and had a new crush on a pop idol every week. Light remembered the times he helped her with her math homework and the times she crawled into bed with him because she was scared of a stupid nightmare. She just didn't have a name. His mind was absolutely blank. His parents were Sachiko and Soichiro Yagami and his little sister was…_Chise._

"No!" he growled, digging the point of his pen deep into the page. "Your name isn't Chise!" Light let out a sharp breath and shut his Death Note out of frustration. Placing it back in its holster, he ran his fingers through his hair and jumped slightly when the claws on his right hand raked his scalp rather painfully. "Ouch," he muttered, gingerly letting his good hand run across the sore scrapes on his scalp. Satisfied that he wasn't bleeding, he carefully held both hands away from himself, palms turned upwards towards the ceiling.

The contrast between them was astounding. On his right hand there was the charred flesh with the inhumanly long, spidery fingers tipped with sharp claws, and on the left was the normal looking human hand. He noted he was much paler than he had been in life, but other than that, there was nothing remarkable or different about his left hand. Light slowly brought the disfigured one closer to his chest and softly cradled it with his left.

It was absolutely disgusting to look at, and Light suddenly felt a sense of hopelessness engulf him. It finally hit him that there was no changing what happened to his hand, and that the rest of his body was slowly but surely going to follow. He was going to become a monster and there was no stopping it. The good looks he had prided himself on were going to be distorted into something barely recognizable. Horrible images flashed before his eyes at what he was possibly going to look like. Was his mouth going to be twisted in a nasty grin like Ryuk's, or was his entire face going to fall off leaving his skull exposed like Dalil's? Or worse, was he going to be mutated into something else entirely like Midora? The thought brought a chill down his spine.

The newborn let his mind wander back to his hand and he felt a sharp sting behind his eyes. His throat suddenly felt swollen and his vision blurred. His blackened hand became nothing but a dark smudge for a second, before the tears slipped silently down his cheeks and fell onto the charred skin. The horrible realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He really was dead. He had been so wrapped up in torturing L and convincing him to write that he hadn't had the time to really think about himself in this aspect.

The Shinigami felt sick again and wanted to throw up, but his body had apparently lost the ability. He was forced to sit through the awful nausea without the relief of emptying his stomach. Light pushed the bag of chips away, and let the reality sink into him like toxic radiation. Forgetting his sister's name was only the beginning. Dalil had warned him to think about his human life often, but Light knew himself enough to realize he'd be too preoccupied with L to reminisce. Hell, even when he was alive he never really gave any thought to friends or family. Light had been so absorbed in creating the perfect world that he admitted he might have lost himself along the way. What had he been like before Ryuk came into his life? Miserable, that was true, and bored out of his mind, but it was the Death Note that had eventually led him to his demise.

Light swallowed the lump in his throat as tears continued to fall silently, splashing onto his disgusting excuse for a hand. Light thought for a moment about what his life might have been like if he never picked up the Death Note. He'd still be miserable and probably stuck in a job that was more than likely too easy for him. Light knew because of his intelligence that he could never really connect to anybody, and because of the nightmare he went through at age three, he doubted he'd ever want a family of his own. So basically he'd be a loner with no future. What kind of life was that? Maybe he had been dying the entire time.

_Dying at age seventeen, _Light mused darkly. _God, what happened to me? _Thinking about it now, Light wasn't sure who he was anymore. He wasn't the high school ace that had first picked up the notebook, and he certainly wasn't the god of a new world. He was a Shinigami that was going to be helping the new Kira, but what use was he when he wasn't even allowed to tell L names? The newborn let his forehead rest on top of his knees, allowing his tears soak into the dark fabric of his pants. Who thought of that rule anyway? This was like dying all over again. Losing memories along with his appearance was like removing the final piece that made him Light Yagami.

Light felt his own life slowly trickle away and shuddered. In a few days, no longer was he going to be living off of his own lifespan, but the lifespan of humans. That was all a Shinigami was; a dead entity that survived off the essence of the living. It made him aware of how really dead he was. This wasn't some fantasy that was only temporary; this was going to be his future. He had lost his chance to connect with other humans and to live a normal life. Light was dead.

With a trembling hand, the Shinigami pulled up his sleeve to expose the dark veins that protruded from his skin. Light wasn't sure what they were meant for considering he didn't have blood, but there they were nonetheless. They were spread like spider webs up his entire arm and felt cold and hard, like dead tunnels of flesh. Light wiped his eyes with his left hand, embarrassed that he had been crying at all. At least he was still capable of crying, but once the transformation was complete he doubted he'd still be able to, not that it was any great loss. Crying was not very masculine, but even though Light was feverishly wiping his eyes, the tears kept falling. A weak, childish part of him was mourning his lost humanity and it refused to be smothered.

The sound of a quiet snore brought the Shinigami's attention to the human he had completely forgotten. Light was able to see L perfectly, and adjusting his acute hearing, he was able to make out the muffled thuds of the human's heartbeat. Almost on instinct, the Death God placed his human hand over the place where his own heart was now frozen. Even through his shirt, his skin was horribly lifeless, and the lack of heartbeat was disturbing.

Removing his hand from his cold dead chest, Light stood from his sitting position and crept to where L was splayed out across his mattress. The Shinigami studied the sleeping human from where he stood, leaning over him slightly. L was not handsome in the slightest, Light observed. He was terribly skinny and his face was too broad for his slender neck. Those bags under his eyes were pronounced and distracting, and his black hair was a mess. His fingers were long and slender, but his knuckles were unattractive, almost knobby as they rested upon his rising and falling chest. The Shinigami felt himself give an involuntary smile at the laughing duck on L's uniform.

Light continued his observation, finding L did have certain attractive aspects about him. His pale skin was smooth and unblemished, and although his hair was messy, its inky black color was pure and it looked as if it were made of silk. Light noticed that with his bug-like eyes closed, he appeared younger than he really was. Taking in L's strangely peaceful expression, Light was suddenly reminded of the former detective's death. L's face was identical to the one Light remembered seeing when L had been dying in his arms. Light's eyes widened as he remembered that stormy day when Rem made the decision to give her life to save Misa. L had looked just as peaceful as his dark eyes gradually slid shut, his black hair spread out against Light's arm, and the hand that gripped the back of the younger man's shirt loosening until it fell limp. He had died that day knowing the truth, and looking at him now was like reliving that moment.

Tentatively, almost frightened, he reached out his human hand, fingers trembling slightly. For some reason, Light had to confirm that L was really alive. As Light's fingertips gently brushed the human's pale cheek, L was suddenly back on the investigation room's floor, his swivel chair turned over from where he fell, Light gazing down at him with not triumph this time, but terror. The Death God felt everything in his body tense as he softly let his fingers trail down L's jaw to his chin. The human's pale skin felt soft and warm, brimming with life. L didn't so much as twitch as the Shinigami's pointer finger slid down to his neck, where it rested firmly over the pulse.

Light was comforted by the strong beat that tapped against his fingers. L was alive and he was once again sleeping in his cot, the white sheets twisted around his thin body. Light felt his mouth form into an involuntary smile. Carefully flapping his wings so not to make too much noise, Light let himself hover directly above the human, his left hand still touching L's flesh. The Shinigami felt the life that flowed through the human's veins, and heard the singing of his heart beat.

"Thump, thump, thump," Light heard himself whisper as he kept in tune with the delicate organ that pushed L's life throughout his body. The Death God was surprised at how childish he sounded singing along with the beat of a human heart. Light let his transformed right hand join his left, beginning its journey on L's cheek, the claws pressing slightly into L's skin, though not hard enough to draw blood. He trailed it along the contours of L's chin, then let it slide down his neck until it met the slight rise of the human's collar bone. Light let his eyes take in the smooth whiteness that was L's skin. Even with his improved eyesight, he was unable to find any imperfections. L may not have been very attractive, but his skin had to be the envy of any model.

The Shinigami let his human hand rest over the source of the gentle thuds, and let the warmth soak through his own cold flesh. It felt good to touch something alive, to feel the warmth. Light found himself leaning in closer to the ex-detective's face, the thin black claws of his right hand tracing the soft skin of L's collar bone then running up to teasingly run across the muscles in L's neck. It would have been so easy to kill him, to just dig his claws in a little deeper to penetrate the human's jugular and have the warm red life soak the sheets. The Shinigami grinned in ecstasy at the thought of L's blood drenching his deformed hand. His red eyes were hooded in pleasure as he imagined L's neck ripped open, the peaceful expression on his face an oxymoron to the delicious carnage.

It was tempting to just do it, but killing a human without a Death Note was considered a high level offense that was punishable by immediate death. So instead he let his claws simply circle the top of L's flesh as hard as he could without causing any pain. All these rules ruined the fun, but maybe it was better that way. The Shinigami certainly didn't want to kill L. No, his skin was just too soft. As he trailed his charred knuckles back to L's hair, the Shinigami felt strange and forbidden sensations course up and down his body.

Light stopped leaning in when he felt the human's breath waft across his face. The Shinigami's fingers penetrated the inky locks, feeling the silkiness against his hard marble skin. Everything about L suddenly seemed so delicate, like Light was able to crush him into dust. The Death God let out a quiet chuckle as he remembered that he _was _able to crush L into dust. The fact that he could kill the fragile human right now if he wanted to was intoxicating, and Light's demented grin widened until it threatened to split his face in half.

With his left hand over the human's pulsating heart, Light realized he wasn't breathing. Though what was strange was that he found he didn't need to. So had he just been doing it out of habit? The thought suddenly put him at a distance from L. Light didn't need to breathe because he was dead. The organs inside of him were destined to rot away, while L's continued their complex actions that kept the life flowing throughout the entire body. Light's grin faded into a look of envy.

L suddenly turned over on his side, and Light jerked away as he regained his senses. Flapping his wings, he propelled himself backwards until he was safely across the room. Light stared in bewildered shock at his hands. The crimson sheen in his eyes vanished and they were back to their normal brown. What had he just done? L didn't seem bothered in the least and simply started chewing on his thumb, eyes still closed. He hadn't even been aware of Light looming over him, battling the urge to kill him and the urge to do something else. Light shook his head roughly, burying all nasty thoughts.

_What the hell was that?_ Light wondered. What was the strange feeling that came over him? The Shinigami reached up and touched his cheeks, realizing that he was still crying. Light imagined the terror on L's face if he had woken up to see Light staring down at him with a demented grin and tears leaking from his bright red eyes. Even thinking about it himself made him shiver.

Light felt he needed to make himself useful and quickly looked around the room, spotting the abandoned bag of potato chips. L hadn't eaten since the night before and Light found himself drifting over to where the bag lay. Picking it up, he saw that there was still plenty left. The Shinigami drifted silently to where L was now curled on his side. The bag ruffled slightly as Light placed it next to the human's face. Surely L would be hungry enough when he woke up in a few hours to at least eat a few.

Light sighed as he studied the digital clock on L's desk. It was nearly two a.m. L said he needed to find a new way to work, and thinking about it now, he was probably right. Near was bound to have his goons monitoring the area. Light suddenly felt a wave of claustrophobia crash down on him. The tiny room seemed to be closing in on him as his eyes darted from one corner to the other. Finding L a new way to get to work was going to be tough, considering Light didn't know Nottingham in the slightest. However, he wanted the challenge and a chance to spread his wings away from the suffocating walls. Turning towards the window, the Death God looked over his shoulder briefly to get one last glimpse of his human companion before drifting through the glass and into the night.

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Alright guys you have no idea how much trouble this chapter gave me. In fact I called this the 'cursed chapter' I had major writers block and I forgot to save the last part of this chapter and had to rewrite it. GAH! I really hope you guys like it. Especially with a bit of L molestation lolz. Also, I have a poll about whether or not this story should have a lemon. meep.

Now the shout outs for the last chapter despite the Nearness of it all goes to **Tallest Yellow, FacelessIdol - **Your review especially made me squee and I plan on this story being 20 to 30 chapters, the anonomus **I_Loves_Light, Hentai Otaku, and wednesday1990. **Without you guys, and **tonieboo0013 **this chapter would be rotting on my hard drive.


	9. Side of a Bullet

Thank you guys so much for all your feedback it's really keeping me on track with this so I hope you enjoy!

**Betaed by Amanda Saitou and the great tonieboo0013**

**I don't own Death Note but I do own the recipe for a great chocolate chip cookie for anybody that reviews me!**

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L was standing in a wide expanse of open space spangled with a few naked trees. A looming front gate rose above him as it barred the way to the outside street and frosty sidewalk. He couldn't move, nor could he speak, as his eyes remained glued on the iron bars of the gate. The realization that he had no idea where he was, along with the lack of control over his own body made him want to panic, but not one inch of him so much as twitched. Even his internal organs refused to respond. His heart remained calm. His face, although flush from the cold, was not so from the rising anxiety.

Snow fell in small white flakes from the dark grey sky, swirling above his head in an icy dance. He felt tendrils of his black hair whip across his face as the chill bit into his cheeks. Suddenly, his arms moved on their own accord and wrapped a wool scarf that was resting haphazardly on his shoulders more securely around the lower half of his face. He tried to break their course or twitch his fingers, but the movement seemed to be preset into his muscles, unable to be tampered with. They lowered so that his hands could bury themselves in his pockets, and didn't move again.

L wanted to look around his surroundings and possibly figure out where he was, but his body remained frozen. It felt as if he were trapped within a statue, only able to look where the head was positioned. He wanted to scream, and he desperately ordered _anything_ to move. The brain was what controlled the body's movements, and L's brain was surely the most efficient one out there. However, it proved to be useless as every single limb remained locked.

From what he was able to see, he stood on a walkway. Two small streetlamps, decorated with red ribbons and green wreaths, illuminated the darkness, revealing the hidden flakes of snow that swept about in the wind. A few bare trees stood on the further edges of the lawn close to the gate. He gathered it might be around Christmas wherever he was, for along with the wreaths, a string of colored lights glowed from where they were placed on the gate. He listened to the wind howling and the soft rustling of the tree's bare branches. He deduced he was in some kind of courtyard, but to where he had no idea.

L's eyelids began to slide shut, and he again felt panic rise. He had no control over the action, and though he tried to keep his eyes open, it was in vain. He was trapped in perpetual darkness, the cold still biting into his flesh despite the thick layers of clothes he was wearing. The only thing he desired was a cup of hot chocolate and to be back under the warm sheets of his cot. He didn't understand why he was standing here or even how he got to this place.

There was a soft crunching of snow behind him as someone approached, but his body remained still, ignoring L's frantic struggle to open his eyes and turn around.

"I had a feeling you'd come out here," his voice said, mouth moving under something else's control like a ventriloquist dummy's. The person stopped from what L guessed was a few feet behind him.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't care one way or the other," another voice answered. L felt a jolt of shock as he recognized the voice. It was the same one that was calm, yet unnerving, and he remembered exactly when he heard it. It had been the night that woman was attacked by Peter Shane and George Monroe. It was the voice of his twin. However, there was something different about the voice. It was from the same person, but instead of the unhinged undertones, it sounded disconsolate and…almost sad.

_I thought he was killed by the first Kira, _L argued. _Where am I? _

"Of course I'd care," he heard himself reply. L was relieved when his eyes opened, but was frustrated when was unable to turn around.

_Damn it, look at him! _he shouted from within his prison.

"Why are you here?" his twin asked. L remembered his theory from the disseminated voice of Mello, and immediately placed the letters BB.

"Why are you?" he responded wistfully to the question. For a while, there was only the howling of the wind and the soft groaning of the far off trees.

"I'm leaving." The BB person's voice was soft, and L nearly cried out a hallelujah as his body finally faced the other person.

Shock was the first thing L felt as he caught sight of the other man. For a fraction of a second, he thought was looking into his own face, but soon realized it was actually another person who looked exactly like him. L was also surprised that he was actually able to see BB's face. He was standing out against the white, completely unveiled and uncensored by L's traitorous mind. The only difference in the two men's appearance was BB's eyes; bright crimson disks that stared back at him through the gentle snowflakes. L felt the need to reach out and touch the other man just to make sure he wasn't an illusion, but again his body betrayed him.

"Where do you plan to go?" his voice questioned. His body took a step forward, and he felt crushing dismay as BB backed away from him, his hands tightly gripping the backpack he was carrying. L was thankful he didn't move again after that. There were so many questions floating around in his head that he wanted to yell out.

_Who are you? How are you alive? Where are we? Who is Mello and what do you have to do with him? Do you know the other two children? Do you know the old man? What do you and Mello have to do with Los Angeles? Why do you have my face?_

Instead, his mouth remained closed and L merely gazed into his twin's disturbing red eyes. He found there to be a lighter ring of yellow circling where the pupil should have been. BB's eyes were also familiar, but L didn't need a minute to figure out where he had seen them before. They were the same eyes that had been following him for almost a week, flashing from a warm chocolate brown to a hellish crimson. On his own face, L was staring into Light's eyes.

"Why would you care?" L felt his chest deflate as he let out a sigh.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Stop it!" BB snarled, his face twisting into a look that could only be described as murderous.

"Stop what?" L was feeling anxious, but his body and voice were completely calm. Apparently whatever was controlling him seemed convinced that BB did not pose a threat, or it just didn't care.

"That!" BB stood stiff and rigid, though not out of nervousness. It reminded L of the way a pit bull froze before rushing in to rip open another dog's jugular. "Stop answering my questions with more questions."

"But I have questions too," L's voice said, taking on a completely innocent tone. "Like how far do you plan to get with just that small backpack?"

"I already have everything planned," BB's red eyes fell to the snow, his black hair falling across his face. "I can't stay here."

"Why not?" There was silence for a moment before his twin slowly walked forward, head still down. L felt the urge to back away and would have if he had any control. BB stopped so that he was standing right in front of L and quickly reached out a gloved hand and clasped it around L's wrist. His body remained still as BB pressed something into his hand then released his hold.

For once, L and his body had the same thing in mind and he looked down at his hand to find a piece of paper covered in numbers. Though the handwriting was rather sloppy, he was able to conclude that it was really a complex equation. L had no idea what it meant; all he saw were scribbles mashed together. Even with all his genius, he was unable to decipher any hidden meaning. The only legible thing he saw was written in at the very bottom of the small paper.

_Two hours_

"Who is this for?" he heard himself ask.

"A." L's eyes widened, his body lurched forward, and his hands gripped BB's shoulders. The other man's head slowly lifted to meet L's eyes, but he didn't look surprised, only grim. "I solved it an hour ago." His grip tightened on his twin's shoulders.

"Why didn't you tell anybody?"

"Yeah, and who would believe me besides you? You're not exactly easy to find, _L_!" BB spat, scowling as if the last letter he spoke was the most bitter thing to ever reach his tongue.

L was completely lost. He had no idea what was going on. His brain tried to piece together every action and word, but there was no way to make sense of any of this.

"I know you're angry with me, but that's no reason to run off when one of your peers is in danger," L scolded. BB brushed the other man's hands off his shoulders and leaned in closer to L's face. Looking at BB so close, L noticed that his skin was darker and his eyes were narrower that his own, but there was no denying the similarities between them.

"Don't you _dare_," BB began, his voice coming out as a venomous hiss, "tell me what I can and cannot do. I am _not _a child anymore." L leaned away, but there was no tension in his face. He wondered how he managed to stay so apathetic. If he were in control he'd have walked away by now, but BB had yet to lunge, so he assumed that his body knew what it was doing.

"You're being incredibly selfish," L observed, his voice emotionless. "You never used to be like that."

"You're never around anymore." BB simply walked around him, making his way towards the gate, backpack slung over his shoulder. L wanted to stop him and thankfully his mouth moved.

"You know why I can't be." BB halted in his tracks, but didn't turn around. L hoped he would clarify what L's voice meant about not being able to be there with his next sentence, but was sourly disappointed.

"Don't we all," was all he murmured. L saw a few wisps of frosty breath rise from BB's mouth.

"Mello and Matt will be disappointed if you leave before Christmas." Who was Matt? Was he the redhead or the albino? Maybe he was just another child that happened to be friends with Mello?

_No, if he was just a playmate there's no way he'd be away from family_ _during Christmas, _L deduced. _Matt has to be one of the kids. _

Thinking for a moment longer, it was possible he was actually standing in the yard of his own house. Judging from the intricate designs welded into the iron of the gate, he must have been wealthy. This didn't really surprise him due to how intelligent he knew he was. Then was his look alike a friend, or was he family? Just the fact that BB looked exactly like him was enough to convince L that they had to be related in someway.

"I told them already. As long as they have each other they'll be fine." Even though L wasn't entirely sure what was going on, there was no mistaking the hidden meaning beneath those words. Clear as day, the voice from the flashback spoke.

_You…never…came_

He must have been terrible in his past life. L wondered if he had abandoned his children with BB to work on the Kira case. It was clear that the other man held a lot of bitterness towards him, and the only reason L could obtain from this conversation was that he deserted them.

"You know I hate repeating myself, but since your first answer was so rude, I'll ask again. Where do you plan to go?" L wondered why he was being so cold. He knew he wasn't exactly the kindest person in the world, but he never heard his own voice sound so icy before. Apparently he held just as much bitterness towards BB as BB did him.

The other man turned at L's question, his face perfectly stoic. L watched the way his black hair rippled across his slightly darker cheeks, the snowflakes falling and sticking to the top of his head.

"Figured I'd go pay my respects to someone you and I both know well. They do call it the City of Angels after all," L's doppelganger replied.

_Th…ank…..seeing….name…Beyond…..L.A._

"I thought you said you'd never go back there," L reminded.

"I was ten years old." BB's red eyes closed briefly. "It was hard coming here, you know?"

"It's been eight years. I thought you'd be over your homesickness by now." There was a brief silence in which L's twin only looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"Goodbye, Lawliet," BB sighed after it passed, seemingly disappointed in L's reply. He turned around once again to continue on his way, but stopped. "Take care of Mello, will you?" his voice was so soft that L barely heard him. "At least make an effort to meet him sometime. The kid loves you and he hasn't even seen you. I told him I've never met you and that we have nothing to do with each other."

"Why would you do that?" L was actually curious about this. This was a new development. He had never met Mello before this moment, so what did that make him? Was he really that neglectful of a father? If BB was merely a babysitter, then why had he told Mello that he had nothing to do with L when it was obviously a lie? What kind of person had L been before the amnesia? Just from the way he was acting now towards BB, he wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore.

"Because it's probably the last human thing you'll ever see me do," BB murmured. "You're practically God in his eyes, and whatever I end up doing, I don't want to take that away from him by saying you had something to do with it." His voice was just like it had been that night L had the flashback of Mello. L instantly became nervous again. There was something dark hidden beneath the normalcy.

"What do you plan on doing?" L's mouth tensed and he felt his face settle into a look of suspicion.

"I don't know," BB whispered, his voice strained. "I just don't care anymore."

"I do hope you figure it out," L's voice was still subdued, yet suddenly sincere. "Despite what you may think, I do still care about you."

"Mello's just like me you know," BB suddenly switched topics. "He's always struggling to be the best and bullies his way around to get what he wants. He's loud and sometimes seems inconsiderate, but that's the only way he knows how to survive. He needs you Lawliet. He needs someone real besides me to look up to. So if you have any kind of feelings left for me, just go visit him once. Please." It was quiet again after that, the air heavy.

"From the meeting over the laptop, he does remind me of you now that you mention it. He was the only child that didn't ask a question." L saw his thumb move to his mouth, where his teeth began the usual routine of chewing.

"That's what scares me."

_Wait, so I spoke to the kids over a laptop? That would explain why my first flashback depicted them so young when he just said I never met Mello before. Well, I'm aware that Mello is a boy and this BB is obviously worried about him, so there's the connection._ _Whichever child Matt is, he's obviously male, but I still don't know if he's the redhead or the albino. This must be my house then. L the detective must pay well. _

BB again started walking, his own hands going into the pockets of his black coat. L noted, with a certain edge of awkwardness, that BB hunched his back the same way L did.

"You know your brother is still alive," L called out as BB reached the gate. The other man paused. It seemed as if time itself stood still. The rustling of the trees cut off sharply, and even the drifting snowflakes seemed to freeze in midair. For a moment it seemed as if the entire universe was holding its breath, watching this exact moment. Even as BB turned around, the air didn't so much as quiver. His crimson eyes probably contained enough fire to melt all the snow within ten mile radius.

"No, he's not," BB replied. L was jarred as his feet suddenly moved forward, making harsh crunching sounds as they pounded into the snow. When he reached the other man, L was horrified when his hand shot out and backhanded BB across the face. The impact echoed throughout the empty courtyard, and his twin's head jerked to the side violently as he fell against the gate.

"You hit me," BB observed quietly, letting a hand rest over his reddened cheek before regaining his balance. He didn't seem surprised or even offended. He simply met L's eyes and stared at him dully.

_Why did I do that? I never thought I was capable of hitting someone like that! Who was his brother? _

"I've been repeating myself a lot for you. Like I said before, you're being incredibly selfish. What happened to you?" L's voice was strangely calm, despite his outburst of aggression.

"You happened to me," BB answered, letting his hand fall from his cheek. "My entire life I've been trying to be you. I've wanted to be as good as you." BB suddenly started laughing, tilting his head back, shoulders shaking wildly. "I mean," he laughed some more, letting himself lean forward until he calmed enough to speak, "it's so funny that even here I'm still second best. Do you want to know the name those old bastards gave me? Get this, this is a real zinger!" BB's wild laughter died into a few restrained giggles. "B for Backup!" he managed to choke out before laughing again, tears rolling down his face. L found the scene to be anything but funny. In fact, he was successfully unnerved.

"Backup," L repeated, his voice still neutral.

"Because I'm just a copy of you! I'm not me, just an extension of you! Hell, maybe that's why I told Mello we never met. I don't know, maybe I wanted someone to see _me_ and not _you! _Go ahead; fill my head with all the confusing logic of how terrible I am for wanting my own identity. Every fucking kid in there loves you Lawliet, and I'm the replacement for your absence and mystery. Even that old geezer sees me as a second you! All my life, it's always been about you, you, you! Now I'm fucking Backup! Do you know how insulting that is?"

L was surprised when his body moved again, but this time it was to embrace the other man. L was once again completely lost as he brought the other thin person to his chest. One hand cupped the back of Backup's head, while the other circled around his hunched back. What was going on? What was BB or rather, Backup, talking about? Why had he been so cold?

"Beyond…."

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L woke with a start, sitting up abruptly, and breathing roughly. His eyes were wide within the darkness, and his entire body was drenched in a cold sweat. After a moment of merely catching his breath, L ran a hand through his hair and did his best to calm himself. After a few more minutes, L felt himself relax and his breathing slow.

Letting his hand fall, he jumped slightly as he heard a loud crackle and felt his skin come into contact with something smooth and waxy. Pulling his hand away, he looked down to find an open potato chip bag.

"Light," L whispered, half amused and half annoyed. Picking up the chip bag, he looked inside to find it still relatively full. His stomach suddenly gave a painful gurgle, and L remembered he hadn't eaten at all yesterday. Looking at the clock on his desk, the time read two fifty a.m. It was almost time to make his way to the downstairs shower, but again his stomach gave a painful reminder that it was empty. Placing a hand on his abdomen in a feeble attempt to soothe it, he regrettably reached into the bag and withdrew on of the red-tinged snacks between thumb and forefinger.

L let his head lean forward as if he were about to taste some alien substance. He heard the chip crunch as his teeth bit into it and tasted the slight sting of the artificial barbeque flavor. Swallowing, he decided it was best to hold off on eating until later. How Light loved these things so much was beyond him.

_Th…ank…..seeing….name…Beyond…..L.A._

L shuddered at the remnants of the incredibly strange dream. He wiggled his fingers just to make sure he was able to. Relieved that he was once again in control, he gently swung his legs over the bed and stood up. He decided to head to the shower early.

Reaching under the bed, he grabbed some spare clothes and then walked out the door, careful to lock it behind him. He didn't need anyone from the public room sneaking around and accidentally touching the Death Note.

Heading down the hall, he wondered briefly where Light had gone. The Shinigami obviously got bored watching him sleep and was more than likely exploring somewhere. He'd be back, and though the thought mildly depressed L, he wasn't worried. Passing through the main lounge, L felt his stomach sink as he approached the main bulletin board. Nailed to the wall next to it was the memorial plague for the man who founded Hawley-Smoot, Thomas S. Green. L learned early that he was a wealthy American historian who moved to England after he became too saddened to 'bear the burden of America's decline'. Whatever that meant. L also heard that Mr. Green was a bit satirical and melodramatic.

However, at that moment L couldn't care less about Thomas S. Green. The man had died three years ago, giving his shelter a name that indicated the stupidity of its residents. The thing that made L want to tear the bulletin board down was much smaller. There was a picture of Mrs. Snow displayed, smiling as she had done in life at the people who passed by. Details of her funeral and visitation were under the photo and L felt overwhelming guilt wash over him.

_Emma Snow, one of our most cherished volunteers has sadly passed away. Visitation for the funeral will be-_

L averted his eyes before he could read the rest. He had no right to go to her funeral, considering he was the one that unintentionally murdered her. Though he had never really cared for her as a person, she was the one that brought on the memories of the old man. Now she was gone, and it was all his fault. Her death was the reminder that he was not a god. A god would never accidentally kill a kind and gentle person.

Reaching the empty room, he switched the lights on and gave a yawn as he removed the two shirts he was wearing. Since no one was around, he was relatively comfortable and took off his pants and boxers before hopping into the shower and drawing the curtains closed. He twisted the silver taps and sighed as the hot water fell onto his back. It had been two days since he was able to bathe, and his muscles relaxed as the grimy feeling that had stubbornly clung to him dripped off his skin and flowed down the drain. L had to resist the urge to simply close his eyes and fall asleep. Coming here so early in the morning was the only way he'd get any privacy. Showers were heaven, but having other people see him naked wasn't.

For a moment he looked down at himself, and was instantly uncomfortable. Even he admitted to himself that he was way too thin. His ribs poked out of his flesh and his arms were horribly skinny. His skin was a sickly pale that made him feel like a walking corpse. L felt his black hair plaster itself to the sides of his face and the back of his neck as he stood under the jet of water. When wet, his hair went all the way past his jaw bone and hung so that the tips brushed his shoulders. Steam began to rise off the tiles and L noticed his skin was adopting a redder tinge. Not really caring, he merely leaned against the wall and let the water cascade down his body.

L closed his eyes, but it was to more or less think back on the dream rather than to doze off. Even attempting to decipher it now was confusing. Instead of giving him more insight into his past, it only made L have more questions. He had been rich, that was a given, but had he been a deserter as well? Backup wanted to leave because he had solved an equation that meant two hours for someone named A. L also said that A was in danger.

At first L was lost on how an equation meant that someone was in trouble, but then he thought back to Backup's eyes. They looked identical to Light's when they glowed red. Light was able to see the names and lifespan of humans just by looking at them. L's eyes shot open and he gasped as the possibility struck him. Was it possible that Backup had the eyes of a Death God? Did he know that A was going to die? L frowned, rubbing his arm briefly to cleanse it. Was it even possible for humans to have, let alone be born with Shinigami eyes? He'd have to ask Light whenever the Shinigami decided to return.

_A, B, L, _the dark haired man thought. _All are letters that make up someone's name. B was Backup, backup for me and he hated it. If I was a shield for L the detective, then B and A must have been replacements for me if I died. This still doesn't make any sense. If B and A were replacements, who were those three kids, and why was Backup so worried about Mello? Was B a criminal and was he was afraid Mello was going to follow the same path? That would explain why he was killed by the first Kira. He practically begged me to visit Mello. Why? What kind of person was I? What 'old bastards' was B talking about? That old man Mrs. Snow reminded me of must have been one of them, but he seemed so kind, like Mrs. Snow. Why would he call someone such a cruel name? _

Backup also talked about going to the City of Angels, which was another name for Los Angeles in California. L also recalled what he had said right after he hugged B. Beyond. What did Beyond mean? He recalled Mello's voice connecting Beyond with L.A. but the BB person said he was called Backup. Wait, he said the old men gave him the name, so was Beyond his real name? So Beyond was killed by Kira after L theoretically took the case with L the detective. He sighed in frustration. He still felt like he was missing something important.

What if that entire scenario was only a dream? Maybe it wasn't some strange flashback at all, but a shameful fantasy L's subconscious cooked up. As much as he wanted to doubt that, the fact Beyond had Shinigami eyes was completely illogical. If there was a way for a human to obtain such eyes from Death Gods, then surely L would consider it more carefully. It all depended on Light's answer. For now, he simply pushed the dream out of his head and let himself relax in the heat. Since he had practically no body fat, he enjoyed warm showers. That dream had not only been confusing, but unpleasant in how cold it was.

"I'm back!" a familiar voice cheered from above him. L gasped loudly and jerked his head upwards to see Light's head sticking out of the ceiling, his eyes closed as he smiled.

"Light!" L shouted, instantly covering himself with his arms. Light's eyes opened and widened as he saw the state the human was in.

"Oh, God!" Light exclaimed, his human hand appearing out of the wall to cover his eyes. "I am so sorry! I had no idea! I ju-"

"Get out!" L hollered, grabbing the closest thing to him (which happened to be the soap dispenser) and throwing it at Light. The device sailed right through the Death God's head and exploded against the ceiling, splattering liquid soap everywhere. The Shinigami instantly jerked back at the loud crash and disappeared. The pieces of the dispenser clattered to the floor, soap still dripping from their edges. L was breathing harshly, feeling absolutely violated.

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By the time L walked out of the shower, completely clothed, he didn't so much as look at Light.

"I found you a new route to work," the Shinigami offered.

L didn't bother to answer him as he stalked through the main lounge and out into the early morning. The sun was just beginning to rise over the skyline of the buildings, but it was still relatively dark. Both of L's hands were shoved into his jean pockets, and though Light found it odd that he wasn't carrying around the Death Note as usual, it was obvious why he decided to keep it locked in his room. Today was preparation day, where L set up everything he needed to begin his role as Kira.

"You know ignoring me isn't going to make what happened go away. I said I was sorry," Light tried again. L obviously didn't think so, for he continued to walk on as if he were completely alone. "I didn't see anything if it makes you feel better."

Silence.

"You know around here they call potato chips 'crisps', but you call them chips," Light attempted to change the subject. "You don't have the same accent as the people here either, but you've been wandering around for five years, right?"

L still refused to even look at him, and Light gave up on trying to communicate. L had completely shut down on him. Light never took L to be the kind of person to be self-conscious, but then again if the situation had been reversed Light would probably act the same way. The one courtesy L gave him when they were handcuffed together was privacy when he was bathing. Of course L had waited outside the bathroom door like a guard dog, but he had never seen Light naked.

The Shinigami merely hovered behind the ex-detective, knowing that today was going to be boring beyond belief. Light suddenly felt a newfound respect for Ryuk. How he managed to keep from going insane was something Light admired. Then again, maybe Ryuk was insane after all. Light's mind was probably just too warped to notice.

Light continued to silently follow L as he headed into a book store and purchased a small notebook that was roughly the size of the Death Note. L must have had some sort of plan that he hadn't told Light about.

"What's that for?" the Shinigami asked, as L tucked the book under his arm and continued to walk through the crowds. At this point, the sun was high in the sky, and people were already out and about for the day. L seemed to be on his own planet, for he walked quickly and determinedly, his shoulders slightly twisting side to side.

"You're not going to answer me are you?" Light sighed, his brown eyes becoming hooded with exasperation. L remained silent, turning down another street. "Come on, can we just forget about it? I get that there's a lot of people around, but can you at least nod or something to show you can hear me." L didn't break his pace. "I could start singing again."

Obviously the threat fell on deaf ears, for L still refused to acknowledge the Death God's existence.

"You're acting like a little kid do you know that? Come on, I didn't see anything! I covered my eyes!" Light shouted in exasperation. L turned down the next corner and opened the door to another shop. Light followed him, groaning as he spotted a group of tourists with cameras. Once inside the shop, Light realized that it was an arts and crafts store. The shelves were stocked with art supplies, and the entire shop was lit to give the entire place a friendly air.

A kindly looking woman in a pink dress stood behind the counter, hands crossed over her lap. She had a sweet smile and was wonderfully plump. Out of curiosity, the Shinigami read her name, Barbra Wilson, and though she appeared to be middle aged, she had a good thirty years left to live. For some reason this pleased the newborn, and he found himself smiling.

"Can I help you deary?" she asked as L peered around the small store. Her accent seemed to fit her character perfectly. She reminded Light vaguely of an older nanny often portrayed in Disney movies.

"Um, yes, actually," L cleared his throat. "Where do you keep your sewing kits?" Light found himself drifting over to a pair of knitting needles.

_What the hell is a pound and a shilling? _Light wondered, staring at the price tag. British currency was totally different from Japanese. _Why can't the world just use yen? _

"In the back, you can't miss them, sweets," she smiled. "Oh, and I know this might be a bit boisterous of me, but can I ask where you're from?" Light stared at L, waiting for an answer.

"I actually live around here," L stated.

"Oh? It's just that you have a bit of an accent. I thought you were American for a moment," she explained.

"No, I've lived here for as long as I can remember." L turned away from the woman and walked towards his destination.

"Strange accent," Light heard Barbra muse curiously. Light turned to study her facial expression, and his eyes widened in horror as he watched a black ring appear around her plump frame. Her lifespan dropped rapidly until it read 2203. She only had until tomorrow.

"No, no, no," Light whispered, floating hurriedly over to her, gazing intently at the numbers to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Who wrote her name? It obviously had to be an older Shinigami for them to be able to absorb thirty years of lifespan. Light sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do. Once a name was written into a Death Note there was no preventing that person's death. Barbra had been robbed of her last thirty years of life and was going to die tomorrow. How she was going to die, he didn't want to know. He could only hope that whoever wrote her name was going to give her a painless end, but he doubted it. Besides Rem, not one Shinigami he knew showed any compassion for humans.

A few moments later, L returned to the counter and placed a sewing kit on top of it. Barbra merrily gave the total, and L paid her accordingly. Light felt sick during the entire exchange, watching as the two humans engulfed in black death rings thanked each other, completely ignorant of the fact they were both going to die. Barbra handed him a plastic bag with the sewing kit inside. L turned and gave a friendly wave to the woman, who smiled and waved back.

"Come back next week!" Barbra Wilson called. "Children from a few orphanages around the country will be here painting pictures to sell. It's for a good cause. All the profits go to them."

"I'll consider it," L said, placing his thumb in his mouth.

"I'll be here!" she exclaimed happily as L walked out the door. Light followed him halfheartedly and turned to face the dying woman.

"No," he whispered miserably. "You won't."

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Light's annoying bid for attention had long since stopped, and though at first L was relieved, he admitted he was getting concerned. He sneaked a few glances over his shoulder to find the Death God looking absolutely miserable, just like last night. L had noticed the way he was looking at the woman in the arts and crafts store. At first, Light seemed to enjoy her presence, but then something changed in the Shinigami's relaxed demeanor to where L figured looking at her was painful. What had changed? What did Light see? He was tempted to ask, but bitterly recalled the episode in the shower and kept his vow of silence.

His stomach growled painfully and L heard himself groan. How could he forget that he was hungry? He stopped to look around his surroundings and found that he was wandering around the main part of the city. A group of excited young girls passed him, chatting about school and where they were going to shop. Reaching into his pockets, L found that he was completely broke and let out a sigh. It was back to choking down the slop they called soup at Hawley-Smoot. As if to remind him of this, L's stomach gave another gurgle.

"I think we should go back to the shelter. You're hungry," Light spoke up, his voce oddly quiet.

"I think you're right," L agreed before he was able to remind himself that he was ignoring Light's existence. He bit his thumb for punishment then decided the Death God had been given the cold shoulder long enough. "I forgive you by the way."

"That's good," the Shinigami murmured, obviously distracted. L turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You're acting really strange," he observed.

"Huh?" Light blinked, turning to look at the human who was staring at him oddly. "Sorry, I'm just thinking." L felt his eyes grow hooded as he studied the Death God. He really was incredibly beautiful, even if one of his hands was now a clawed mess. L thought that Light's transformation was possibly a good thing. If Light looked like a monster then this uncomfortable attraction he felt towards the Shinigami would surely vanish.

L pushed the thought out of his mind. Light's beauty crisis was nowhere near the top priority. There was still one thing left to do, and though the incident in the shower was humiliating, he didn't miss what Light had said. He needed to see the new route to work, and judging from where they were now, it'd take another hour to get back to the homeless shelter.

"You said you found me a new route to work, right?" Light looked at him briefly, but there was no spirit there. His eyes had turned a dull red and he turned away momentarily to watch the people walk by.

"Yeah," he answered, staring intently at an older man coming down the street. In that moment, something about the Shinigami's energy changed again. He was no longer distant in a way that made him seem sad, but distant in a way that made him seem horribly aggressive. "I found you a new route."

"Well, are you going to show me?" L persisted cautiously, tilting his head to the side and peering curiously at the Death God. L followed Light's stare to the elderly gentleman. A cane in one hand, he wore what looked like an expensive silk suit and large sunglasses. However, he had a nasty cough and stopped every so often to hack into his fist. Returning his sights to the Shinigami, L noticed that everything about Light seemed tense and expectant. It was as if every fiber of the Death God's being wanted to go to the man, but L could tell by his posture that he didn't want to help. He was once again reminded of the dream, and the way Beyond froze when he spoke to him.

_Like a pit bull, _L thought disturbed. _Light looks like he wants to rip into that poor man's jugular. _

As the gentleman approached, he stopped again and coughed harshly into the sleeve of his suit. L watched as he leaned forward on his cane, the hacking wracking his wiry frame. L once again turned to Light, whose eyes were now bright red with hunger. His face was like it had been the night they first met, serpentine and evil. The Shinigami was still beautiful, but it had been warped to the beauty of the most efficient predator. Was this how Light looked the moment he killed Beatrice Wilcott? Was this the last face the poor woman saw before she was forced to jump off a bridge?

"Just a bloody bad cold," the man assured, mistaking L's suddenly nervous look for one of concern. L merely gave the gentleman one of his rare, yet insincere smiles.

_No, it's not just a cold, _L thought as the man continued on his way. _You're dying. I know because a God of Death is staring at you like a piece of meat._

The old man disappeared around the corner, but Light was still staring after him intently. L noticed the Shinigami's deformed hand twitched slightly, the claws clicking together. Everything about him reminded L of an animal: the way his red eyes gazed wide-eyed and dazed in the direction of where the man disappeared, and the way his lithe body strained against the invisible bonds of sanity that kept him next to L.

"Save him for later," Light murmured to himself. L knew he wasn't supposed to hear that, so he pretended he didn't.

"Well, let's go find this route," L spoke up, leading the way. He was relieved when Light followed him instead of lingering behind.

"Shouldn't I be in the front?" Light questioned. L studied him briefly and found that his eyes had returned to their normal sweet brown. The predator-like madness seemed to have gone, or more likely, stored away for later.

"Go ahead if you know the way," L replied. Light instantly took the lead, and L had to pick up the pace to keep up with him, dodging around a few groups of people and waiting to cross the street. Light had no regards for crosswalks, and simply floated through traffic. Then, as if remembering L was supposed to be following, Light would turn around expectantly and wait for him, his giant black wings flapping impatiently. L simply rolled his eyes, before the traffic allowed him to cross the street.

"I think I recognize the streets around here," L said an hour later. The two were now in a neighborhood, which consisted of several large buildings which L guessed were flats or as he preferred to call them for some reason, apartments. He was aware that his pattern of speech was different from most of the people in Britain. L's accent was strange, but why? He knew he was British, why else would he have woken up here without any memory? Maybe since he worked for L the detective he traveled a lot and thus picked up a different way to speak English.

_Does that even make sense? _L pondered. The thing that bothered him greatly was that Beyond had the same accent as he did. So wherever he was from, Beyond must have been from the same place. Los Angeles? Possibly. L reminded himself not to get too excited. The dream all depended on Light's answer if it was possible for a human to have Shinigami eyes.

"You should, we're just two streets over from your old route," Light explained.

"Huh," L breathed. "It's getting kind of dark." Light's head tilted upwards.

"Would you look at that?"

"Light, there's something I need to ask you," L began, staring intently at the Shinigami's back.

"Which is?" Light prompted after L remained quiet.

"Is it possible for a human to have your eyes?" Light stopped so suddenly that L almost ran into him. The Shinigami faced him and landed on the ground, folding his wings behind him. His brown eyes had taken on that doll-like glassiness that rendered them unreadable.

"What brought this up?" Light asked, his tone heavily guarded. L racked his brain for a decent lie. He still did not trust Light, and he definitely didn't want to share anything personal such as his dream. Besides, if Light started to catch on that he was having these flashbacks, he was going to be in real danger. It was already bad enough that Light saw the notes from the first night in the Death Note and that L had slipped and called him Raito-kun. What was worse was that the Death God knew about Mello, though thankfully his knowledge was limited. Light was waiting patiently, but L could practically see the crimson sheen behind the brown.

"I've been trying to think of a way to get names, and since you have no problem with that, I was wondering if it was possible for a human to obtain the skill." L watched as Light's unreadable expression changed ever so subtly. The glassy mirrors vanished, and the Shinigami's mouth tensed ever so slightly. This instantly made L suspicious, and the grip on the bag he was carrying increased dramatically. Light was hesitating, L could tell. He didn't want to say the true answer to the question, but just as L was about to call him out on it, Light's expression changed again to one of absolute terror.

"Lawliet, look out!" he yelled. Before L even had a chance to turn around, he felt something hard and cold press painfully into his back. Light's eyes became huge and L noted the way his knees began trembling. L didn't need to look behind him to know what the object prodding him was.

"Look, I don't want to hurt you," a young man's voice whispered behind him. "Just drop the bag and raise your hands." L obeyed and let the bag containing the sewing kit and notebook fall to the ground. He cautiously raised his hands to his head, not even daring to sneak a glance over his shoulder at his attacker. Light paced nervously, his hand coming to rest over his quivering mouth. L had never seen him frightened. In fact, L almost thought that the only emotions the Shinigami had were arrogant, annoyingly cheerful, and occasionally anger, but then L remembered that Light told him he died from being shot.

It should have come as no surprise that Light was scared of guns. He didn't like Light, but seeing him so terror struck was almost sad.

"Head to that alley," the man directed, prodding L painfully in the back. L remained calm, especially since the man said that he didn't want to hurt him, but he desperately tried to come up with a plan to escape. Light was useless since if he protected a human he'd die and he wasn't allowed to tell him the man's name. It wasn't like it mattered anyway, due to the fact he decided to leave the Death Note in his room for the day. L noticed that Light was following them as they headed towards the alley. He circled above their heads like a crazed vulture, his face reminding L of a lost child.

"Turn around," the man ordered.

"Do as he says," Light said, his voice small and frightened. L didn't need to be told twice, and turned around slowly, keeping his hands in the air. His face was perfectly calm as he faced the attacker. The man was young, with shaggy blond hair and the beginnings of a small beard. He was wearing an old business suit of some kind, and his eyes were bloodshot and scared, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was doing. The gun in his hand trembled slightly. That was a good sign. There was a possibility L could talk his way out of this.

He felt Light land heavily behind him and grip his sides with both hands. L felt his skin crawl uncomfortably, feeling the claws of Light's right hand even through the fabric of his shirt.

"What are you doing?" L whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"If he shoots, I'll try and throw you out of the way. The bullet won't hurt me," Light assured, though his tone suggested that he didn't quite believe it.

"I don't want to hurt you," the man repeated. "It's nothing personal, I just need money. You see I just got booted from my job."

"It's okay," L assured quietly. "Look, why don't you just put the gun down and walk away. I promise not to tell anybody about this." The man gave a humorless laugh.

"You don't understand," he persisted. "I have a family. Look, I just need money that's all! I don't want to hurt anybody!"

"Does it look like I have money?" L questioned, smiling feebly in hopes to comfort the worried man. He felt Light's fingers grip his sides tighter and heard a string of Japanese which he figured was a prayer of some kind. He could have been wrong, but Light was talking so fast and so quietly that it seemed memorized. He felt the unnatural coolness of the Shinigami's claws even through his shirt. It was unpleasant, but the man appeared to have no idea what he was doing and could very easily set the gun off by accident.

"You just got done shopping!" the man shouted shrilly. "Just give me the money!" His frantic eyes darted to the front of the alley to make sure no one was watching.

"I'm a janitor at a grocery store," L tried to reason. "I live in a homeless shelter. I can tell you've never done this before and that you're desperate, but this isn't the answer. Besides, even if I had money I doubt it'd be enough to help you."

"Just shut up!" the man ordered, his voice shaking horribly. L shut his mouth, not wanting to push the man into doing something in a panic. "Okay, I'm going to check your pockets. Don't move or I'll shoot, alright?" It was painfully obvious that this poor man had no idea what he was doing, but that was what made him dangerous, especially with a gun.

The man took a few cautious steps towards L, bloodshot eyes wild. L kept his face calm and felt Light go stiff and rigid behind him. L wondered briefly what it was like to get shot. Obviously from the way the Shinigami was acting it wasn't very pleasant, but L found it impossible to comprehend how painful it must be. Light was mentally scarred from being killed by a gun. That was probably why he supported Kira. Light had been a police officer in Japan and he had been killed by a criminal he was trying to bring to justice. The thought suddenly hit L, he wasn't just protecting the innocent; he was protecting police officers too. How many men and women died in the name of justice trying to take dangerous criminals off the street? L finally understood Light's views.

As the man with the gun advanced cautiously, L was aware of how ignorant he had been. For almost a week he had hated Light, and though he still wasn't fond of the Shinigami, he finally understood why Light wanted him to write so badly. If Kira had been allowed to go on unopposed, Light never would have died and his family would never have gone through the pain of losing him. L was suddenly overcome with respect for the Shinigami. Here he was, traumatized and terrified, ready to throw L out of the way if the man pulled the trigger. Of course the bullet would harmlessly pass through the Death God, but L was aware of how these sorts of terrors played out. There was a good chance Light was going to be thrown into a panicked frenzy.

Hopefully, once the man realized that L had no money, he'd leave them alone and possibly come to his senses. However, something came over him as soon as the man was in arm's length. The impulse was instinctive as if it had been programmed into his body. Fast as lightning, L took both of his hands and shoved the arm holding the gun to the side, then lifted his leg and gave the man a sharp kick to the face that sent him sprawling backwards. He felt Light's claws rip into his side as his body twisted to deliver the blow.

L hissed at the sting and felt warm liquid soak the side of his shirt. As the man fell backwards, the gun went off and L instantly dropped to the ground as the bullet ricocheted off the brick walls. He heard Light begin to shriek in terror, his voice hoarse and loud. L's elbows skinned themselves on the concrete as he rolled onto his back in time to see the man stumbling out of the alley in a blind panic. No doubt the gun shot was heard by other people.

L turned to look at Light who now had his hands on his head, brown eyes bulging and huge as he screamed. His knees shook uncontrollably as he looked down at L in terror.

"Ryuzaki!" he yelled shrilly. In an instant, Light was on top of him, hands clasped around his shoulders. L yelped in pain as Light's grip nearly crushed his collarbone. "Iya Matsuda, dame!" he shrieked in Japanese. The Death God's eyes were clouded over with fear. His soft auburn hair hung around his pale face, making him seem unbelievably deranged. His expression was somehow even more terrifying then when he had stared at the old man only an hour ago. "Tanomu! Matsuda, dame!"

"Light it's me!" L tried to shout, but the Shinigami began to shake him and the back of his head slammed into the concrete. He felt the entire expanse down his neck erupt in fire. He was being crushed and his entire chest constricted with pain.

"Matsuda! Ryuzaki! Mikami! Takada! Misa!" Light screamed, shaking L roughly and causing the human to be slammed into the ground over and over.

"Light stop!" L cried out. "You're hurting me!" The Death God's eyes were blinded, however, and he continued to shriek in Japanese. L's head was pounding and he was unable to translate anything through the fire blazing in his head. He was being beaten into the concrete by Light's superior inhuman strength.

"Matsuda, dame!" Light hollered, eyes giant and mouth open wide to let out the screams. L began to struggle feebly against the Death God. The Shinigami was unknowingly killing him in his panicked state. He felt his back pop as it was crushed against the pavement and his collar bone throbbed under the pressure of Light's hands. The Shinigami's claws were ripping into his left shoulder, drawing blood and slowly getting closer to the muscle.

"Light, please wake up!" L begged, trying in vain to break the Death God's hold on him. L was vaguely reminded of the women in his dream from a few nights ago, how strong their grips were. Light's was much harder, almost bone-crushing, but this time it was real. There was only so much pounding his body could take and already he felt the haziness settle over his eyes. Light's terrified voice was becoming fainter and his beautiful face was fuzzy and smudged. There was a final shout of,

"Yamete kure!" and L's head smacked into the concrete one last time. The now foggy picture of Light suddenly flickered out like a television screen as L was knocked unconscious.

* * *

Sorry about the cliffhanger but I had to do it! I really hope you guys liked it. Really let me know what you think since all your reviews really make me happy and keep me ever so inspired. Some parts of this chapter was a bit difficult to write, but nowhere near the last chapter.

Light is basically begging Matsuda to stop. Big **thank you** goes to **fYr3 ph03nix **for helping me with the Japanese! I hope I fixed everything. Also, since this story promises to be epic whoever gets the 1000th review gets a onshot dedicated to them! Yaaay! *cricket chirp* Since we'll all probably forget by then I'll keep reminding ever few chapters or so!

REVIEW PLEASE! ^-^

Shout outs go to **Your Kidney, Apophenia, SakuraCa, morsmordre87, wednesday1990, Gabi Howard for her cultural advice, realityfling18 for reviewing every chapter, Silver Pard, Barranca, and BINGxstarr**


	10. Death's Kiss

Okay, now I finally have time to give you a proper author's note. Again thank you all for your support. I myself am a dedicated reviewer and I know how tedious it may seem to leave encouraging words, but it really does help people and make their days. Keep reviewing and I promise to keep updating, because now I know how much my words can really feel so good to other authors. Again thank you.

Now that the cheesy shit is over,

**This story is betaed by luckystars123 (she returns!) Amada Saitou and last but definately not least tonieboo0013! Wonderful ladies they are and without them this story would be illegible. **

**Disclaimer: Do not own Death Note, but my muse owns me. **

* * *

The first thing L noticed as he surfaced into the unknown realm was that he was looking down on a room. He found himself unable to move. However, this didn't worry him. Worrying suddenly seemed to take too much effort. Feeling apparently did also, for he had the notion that he was inanimate. There were no emotions flowing within him, just a balance of sight and sound. Maybe this was what it felt like to be a fly. It was a strange relief from the blinding fear and desperation that was suffocating him only a moment ago.

It was like staring into a dream, for the edge of his vision was disrupted by white mist. Despite that, he was able to see the entire room: the plush double bed with silk sheets, the white carpet, and the large window covered with expensive drapes. The objects' edges were slightly blurry, but not enough to distort them beyond recognition. It was an elegant space, but that was not all. There were voices coming from behind the closed door. One was shrill and angry, the other was younger and just as, if not more, irate.

"You're supposed to be better than that bastard child!"

"I am! I got a higher grade in art!"

"Art is useless! Just like you! Your father will never notice _you_!"

"You mean he'll never notice you!"

"What did you say to me?" the angered voice suddenly dropped to a low growl. "How dare you speak to your mother that way?"

"Dad says you're nothing but a bitter old hag!"

"You liar! It was that woman's child wasn't it? He's turned you against me! I know he lies all the time! That's how he blinded your father!"

The door suddenly burst open and a small boy was shoved inside from the white void behind it. A beautiful woman stomped after him, sporting a pair of ridiculously high heels and a low cut dress that looked painted onto her body. He watched from the ceiling as she delivered a vicious slap to the boy's face. Her sharp red nails were like talons and her long black hair fell down her back like a waterfall as she continued her assault. She was gorgeous, but the kind of gorgeous one associated with shiny knives or swords.

The little boy fell down and the woman instantly climbed on top of him, her razor-like nails digging into his arms as she dragged him closer before straddling him. L watched with little feeling as the young boy began to cry and struggle against the woman's grip. She struck him again across the face, the many bracelets on her wrists clicking together.

"I hate you!" the boy screamed. He was only six years old or so with the same black hair and tanned skin as his mother. His angry sobs were cut off as the woman's long fingers wrapped around his neck. She instantly began to strangle him, slamming his head against the carpet as she jerked him up and down by the throat. The child's fingers gripped her wrists as he feebly attempted to pry her hands away.

"He loves me!" she bellowed. "Just like you're supposed to love me! Do you know how much I sacrificed for you? Do you know how much I love you?"

The child's gagging filled the room and his eyes opened to reveal strange red irisres. Tears were pooling around their edges as his mother's crushing grip increased. L's interest peaked as he recognized those eyes. However, he was unable to place them at the moment. The woman's screams intensified until she was sobbing uncontrollably. The rage that had possessed her only seconds ago vanished, and her hands loosened from around the child's neck.

The boy took the time to struggle away from her and crawl to the other side of the room, gasping for air and coughing. Once he seemed to be at what he felt was a safe distance, he shoved himself into a corner and crouched, red eyes wild and chest heaving. The woman cried into her hands for a while longer, L watching placidly from his spot on the ceiling as she slowly lifted her head.

From his position, L was unable to see her face, but noted the way she gracefully stood up and sauntered over to where her son glared at her. Despite what she had done to him, he showed no fear, only anger. The tears that rolled down his face were not from sadness, but from rage and humiliation, like he was ashamed that she was able to get away with hitting him.

"When I grow up you'll never be able to stick your hand in my face again!" he warned, bristling as she approached. Her walk was one of grace, as if she were merely floating. L found it amusing that such a seemingly pedigreed creature gave birth to the awkward, hunched child below him.

"I only do it because I want you to be the best," she reasoned, her voice shaky. She crouched down before him, an amazing feat due to the length of her heels, and held out her hand. "You're so much better than that bastard child. You are smarter, loved, and popular, but your father refuses to see that. He still cares more for that monster. That ugly wreck."

"Shut up!" the boy screamed, covering his ears.

"That freak!" Her voice began to get louder.

"Shut up!"

"That pig!"

"Shut up!"

"That disgusting excuse for a human being!"

"Shut up!"

"The spawn of that British _whore_!" she shrieked the last word at the top of her lungs, and her relaxed hand instantly clamped around her son's throat again, shoving him back against the wall. Leaning forward until her lips were inches from his ear, she whispered, "Now if you can't even beat scum that's less than human, where does that leave you?" L was able to hear it as if she were speaking through a megaphone. Regardless of the detachment, he could imagine the sting the words brought onto her son. She kissed his cheek, and let her hand fall away from his neck to lovingly caress the side of his face. "Mommy loves you so much."

She left after that, strutting like a model and slamming the door behind her. The boy broke down, sobbing while pounding his fist into the wall behind him. His red eyes were bright with fury as he stood and stormed over to a nearby dresser. Grabbing the lamp that sat upon it by the base, he hurled it at the adjacent wall where the ceramic bottom shattered with a loud crash. L wondered briefly how much the piece cost, but was distracted from the thought when the door opened for the second time. Another boy entered the room, slowly peeking around the doorframe.

"Beyond?" he called gently. "Are you okay?" The smaller boy had since returned to his corner, knees drawn to his chest, eyes wide and unseeing. He rocked slightly back and forth, hands over his ears as if to block the memory of what had just transpired. The other boy approached and sat down next to him, wrapping a comforting arm around the younger child's shoulders. L was instantly fascinated by the older brother. He was completely blurry, like he was part of the dream sequence, whereas Beyond and his mother were bright figures that stood out as if they were completely separate entities.

"It's your fault," Beyond growled miserably. L found it to be the most pathetic sound he had ever heard. It was like a small puppy growling to protect his food dish. "It's your fault she acts like this."

The older brother didn't reply and simply brought the younger boy's face to his chest. Beyond wrapped his arms around the figure, contradicting himself completely. He relaxed as his brother held him. The brother remained silent, stroking the boy's hair and ignoring the weak fist that halfheartedly pounded his shoulder. It was a last attempt on Beyond's part to hold onto his anger, but after a few moments, the fist fell a final time and didn't lift again. His small body began to shake and the older brother's arms tightened around him.

L noticed the way Beyond held to the back of his brother's shirt. It was as if he was trying to push him away, yet terrified to let him go at the same time. They didn't move nor speak, and no cries or sobs emanated from the younger boy.

Then the realm started to melt away; Beyond and his brother dripping away into the blackness that was there before. L was still relatively numb, but something was pulling him upwards, and soon parts of his brain that had been shutdown restarted. His thought process was finally returning and he became aware that his eyes were actually closed. He twitched his fingers and found that he was back in his body. The strange realm was starting to fade from his conscious mind, and by the time he cracked his eyes open it had completely evaporated.

L was staring at a dark sky when he fully regained his senses. That was the first thing he saw. The first thing he felt was pain. He groaned as he sat up gingerly, one hand pressed to his forehead. It felt as if a thousand tiny men with pickaxes were trying to escape the inside of his head. He was pretty sure that he'd have vomited if his stomach had anything to throw up. Instead he was given dry heaves that made his sides ache and throat want to shred itself into ribbons.

Once his nausea had passed and he was done retching, he was left gasping. The back of his head seemed to be where the tiny pickax men were most intent to exit, and he placed a hand on the spot before remembering what had just happened. A man had attempted to mug him, and there had been a gun. The gun went off, and Light had gone ballistic. The Death God had nearly killed him in his blind panic screaming some foreign words. L was aware he had been speaking Japanese, but he had been in too much pain to understand.

L looked around briefly and found Light at the very end of the alley, revealed by a dirty light bulb above a nearby door. He had shoved himself in the very back corner, his knees drawn to his chest, and brown eyes wide. The Shinigami was rocking back and forth, hands covering his ears. L suddenly felt tired, but refused to go back to sleep. He wanted to make sure that Light was okay, but was unsure why. His vision was still fuzzy and his head still throbbed, but there was something familiar about the way Light was sitting. Something inside of him demanded he try to comfort him. L was about to move when he heard a woman's voice.

"Sir, are you okay?" she called from behind him. L winced as her question rang in his already pounding head. He turned to find the woman standing at the edge of the alley. There was a faint glow where her hand should have been. L blinked a few times and realized that it was actually a cell phone poised in her hand. L stood on shaky legs, bracing himself against the side of the building.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured, hissing slightly as his shoulder and side erupted in fire. He remembered Light's claws ripping into his flesh. His movement had reopened the cuts and he felt his shirt stick to his skin with the blood.

"I heard a gunshot," the woman stated. "Do you want me to call an ambulance?" L held back another groan. What part of '_I'm fine'_ did she not understand? He did his best to stand without the support of the wall. Getting the authorities involved was the last thing he needed. Forcing his legs to remain still, he stood as straight as he could, but the action caused his vision to swarm dangerously. Everything was still a bit blurry, and combined with the darkness, he just barely made out the woman's outline.

"There was, but not here," he said, holding back another round of dry heaves as a new wave of nausea crashed down on him. "I heard it too. It was actually the next street over." L's legs started to shake again and he was forced to brace himself against the wall once more.

"Are you pissed?" L was confused for a moment. What? Why would he be mad?

"No, why would I be angry?" His head felt like it was splitting down the middle and he still was unbelievably sleepy.

"Oh, you're an American," she figured, her concerned tone suddenly dull as if she'd rather be anywhere else.

"No, I live here," L argued. His temples were pounding and he felt his eyelids grow increasingly heavy.

"What's going on here?" a man asked curiously, standing next to the woman.

"Just some pissed Yank," the woman sighed, closing her cell phone. How many times did he have to say he wasn't angry? He wanted some water. L's tongue was dry and swollen and his throat felt like it had turned to sandpaper.

"I heard a gunshot," the man said. L was unable to see his face, only make out the dark outline against the fuzzy light of the streetlamps.

"The next street over from what this one says. Then again, he is pissed."

"I'm not angry!" L argued.

"Aw, leave the poor bloke alone," the man said, then directed his next question at L. "Had too much to drink at one of the pubs? Where do you live? I'll call you a taxi." L cradled his head momentarily. God, he was so confused. Then he remembered that in Great Britain 'pissed' meant 'drunk'. Cursing himself for being so stupid then realizing that the woman provided the perfect excuse for his odd behavior, he decided to play along.

"I didn't have that much," he argued. "I don't need your taxi."

"Suit yourself," the man shrugged, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Let's go." The couple left, and finally L allowed himself to collapse in a heap against the wall. His head suddenly became too heavy for his shoulders, but he forced it to turn to catch sight of Light. The action made him feel like there were marbles rolling around his skull, but he was thankful to find the Shinigami hadn't moved. L felt his eyelids grow even heavier, and he finally let his head rest against the ground where he passed out cold again.

It wasn't until several hours later that he woke up, and though his head still pounded, the awful nausea seemed to have passed. He sat up carefully and let his dry tongue run across his lips. He really needed to get something to drink. It was like his mouth was stuffed with cotton, and tiny black spots appeared before his eyes, flittering around like fairies. L sat with his back against the wall, waiting until his brain stopped sloshing around in his skull to look down at the end of the alley.

Light was still rocking, both hands on his head, mouth quivering. L slowly stood up and was relieved when nothing too painful happened.

"Light?" L called, his voice hoarse. Still leaning on the wall for support, he made his way to the back of the alley. Light didn't seem to notice and kept rocking. When L reached him, his legs trembled as the last bit of strength left them and he fell on his knees. Letting one hand clutch his side, he pulled it away and found his palm to be covered in blood. The light above the door next to him let the crimson liquid shine in a way that nearly made L want to faint again. He put the hand down and didn't dare look at it again.

Light was speaking fast in what L assumed was Japanese, but his head was still too cloudy to understand it. L watched the Shinigami for a while, but Light's state of mind didn't change. Even though he was looking directly at L, his brown eyes were misty and unseeing. L very well might have been invisible. He sat on his knees to rest briefly, waiting for his head to stop hurting enough to translate. It came gradually, like a radio being adjusted to a clearer channel.

"Dad don't," he pleaded. L remained silent at the mention of the Death God's father, enthralled by what Light was reliving. "Dad, please I'm not Kira!" L's eyes widened and he felt his stomach lurch. "L is wrong! Please don't kill me!"

"Light!" L snarled, getting on his hands to crawl forward. To say that L was angry was an understatement. All this time Light had not been just a Kira supporter, but an actual suspect. L reached out, and grasped Light roughly around the upper arms and yanked him forward, casing him to fall ungracefully onto L's chest. Shoving the Shinigami back, L noticed that Light's eyes were closed and angrily shook him in order to catch his attention.

"You were a Kira suspect! You lied to me, you bastard!" Light turned his face away and brought his hands to L's chest in attempts to push him away. "Were you Kira?" L demanded, giving him another rough shake. "Were you? Tell me, you conniving liar!"

L stopped as Light's eyes opened and he turned to face him. They were watery and scared, but there was something more to them. L felt his anger fade as he stared into their brown depths. Light whimpered quietly and lowered himself, gazing at L fearfully. It was that fear that made L stop his interrogation. Light was absolutely terrified of him. No one had ever looked at him like that, and L found that he hated the feeling that came with it.

"Dad, please put the gun down." Light's eyes were wide, and they began to roll in his sockets until they turned upwards, almost as if he were looking at something pressed against his forehead. L instantly drew the connection. Light wasn't just afraid of guns because he was killed by one, but because at one point, his own father held one to his head.

"Christ, Light," L murmured to himself. He remembered that Light told him that his father was the police chief in Japan. Had his father gone crazy and threatened to shoot him? L often heard stories about veterans returning from war who suffered from post traumatic stress. Some of them ended up killing their own families due to flashbacks. Did that happen to Light's father? It wasn't hard to imagine that the stress involved with being a police chief combined with his child being a murder suspect drove him over the edge.

"Dad, no!" Light shrieked, falling against L's chest, shaking uncontrollably. L let his hands fall from Light's upper arms and hit the concrete. He didn't make a move to comfort Light, just stared at the brick wall before him. There were exactly thirty-six horizontal bricks and though he tried to count the ones going vertical, the darkness swallowed them before he could finish. Light's hands were clutching the front of his shirt, the claws ripping open several holes. Their tips barely brushed against his skin, but it was enough to make him shiver involuntarily.

L tilted his head back until he was staring at the black sky. There were no stars visible and L felt a sense of loneliness overcome him. The only person he spoke more than two words to was someone he couldn't trust. Light had been a Kira suspect. Then if he was shot, did that mean that the others caught him? L tried to remember what Light had been yelling before he knocked him unconscious, but all that came to him was a jumbled mass of panic and screaming.

"Lawliet?" L looked down to find Light staring up at him, hands still tangled in the fabric of L's shirt.

"Are you finally awake?" L asked, his voice barely coming out as a sort of wheeze.

"You're bleeding," Light observed.

"Yes, thank you for that," L remarked bitterly. Now reminded of the pain, he brought his hand up again to clutch his side though it had little, if any, effect. Light raised himself into a more dignified position and released L's shirt, but averted his gaze.

"How much did you hear?" Light mumbled, looking directly at the ground.

"Before or after you knocked me out?"

"Both." Light still stared intently at where his hands rested on the concrete as if wishing it would swallow him up.

"Before, I don't really remember anything other than you beating me into the ground. Just now you were talking about your father holding a gun to your head." Light noticeably tensed at this and lifted his head to finally look L in the eye.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he whispered softly. "I…I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Like I said, you knocked me unconscious, but other than that no." L gingerly lifted his hand to see if the scratches had started bleeding again, and sighed when he saw a fresh layer of the red liquid had coated his hand. L was startled as Light reached for his wrist and grasped it firmly. Bringing it to his face, L stared as several emotions cross the Shinigami's features. There was humiliation, anger, and then finally sadness. The sadness was the worst; the way the Death God's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and their molten brown seemed to shimmer. L expected him to let go after he was done studying the blood, but was surprised when Light reached out his deformed hand and let it rest in L's palm. The elongated fingers brushed the human's bloody skin tenderly, then remained still.

"What are you doing?" L questioned warily. Light's face had morphed into an almost loving expression, but it wasn't due to the fact that he was holding L's hand. L was trying to pry it away, but it was like trying to escape the grip of a marble statue. Light didn't budge, and L felt his heart start to beat rapidly as the warm chocolate brown of Light's irises muddied into the deep crimson he had come to hate.

"Your blood feels nice," he murmured. L was disgusted, and let his other hand try to break Light's hold on his wrist.

"You're sick," L growled. "No wonder L thought you were Kira." Light's expression didn't change and he simply let his cheek rest against L's palm. L lifted his lip in disgust as Light moved his hand down his face, leaving a red trail on his smooth cheek.

"I was a suspect, but L was wrong. It was only a one percent chance that I was Kira."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" L questioned.

"It wasn't important because I'm not Kira," Light explained. He let his chin rest against the human's hand, his half-lidded red eyes glowing in the poor illumination provided by the grimy bulb. The crimson streak down the Death God's face made him seem incredibly threatening, and L had a feeling that if Light wanted to, he could crush his wrist into pulp.

"L seemed to think you were," L stated, his voice quiet and calm despite his anxiety.

"L was an evil man who couldn't stand to be wrong!" Light snapped suddenly. His grip tightened on L's wrist and the human had to clench his teeth to keep from yelping in pain. Light's scarlet eyes widened briefly, his gaze practically drilling holes into L's skull, then it softened. He slowly let his grip on L's hand loosen and let him go completely, looking away. "I'm sorry. It's just…on a one percent chance, L put me through hell." L remained silent, and rubbed his wrist in order to get his blood circulating again. "But you don't want to hear about that."

"Was he the one that made your father put a gun to your head?" L asked, expecting Light to give a snippy remark about how absurd the idea was.

"Actually, yeah." L's eyes widened and he stared at the Shinigami incredulously. Was he serious? There was no way L the detective would go so far. Still, L reminded himself that he didn't remember anything about his past life. L the detective could very well be capable of scaring someone like that, but L found no logical reason for it, especially on a one percent chance.

"Why?" he found himself asking.

"To see if I would kill my father," Light murmured, a shroud of pain overcoming his handsome features. His eyes returned to their usual soft mahogany color. "He had me imprisoned for months. He had my father drive me out to the middle of nowhere and hold a gun to my head. I was very young too, only seventeen or eighteen."

"You don't even know how old you were at the time?" L asked, feeling a new bought of suspicion.

"It was a long time ago," Light sighed. "You have to understand that he's part of the reason I support Kira. On a one percent chance, L took a teenage boy, locked him up, and had the one person he loved the most threaten to kill him." L watched as Light bit his lip and began to tremble again. "He based it on absolutely nothing. He had my entire family under surveillance for weeks and found nothing on the cameras, but still suspected me, and I…I died for him." Though part of L was convinced he was lying, the Shinigami seemed genuinely upset. Light was a perfect actor, but L dug in his heels and refused to fall under the Death God's spell. Though his brain was sending him warnings and logical reasoning, his heart was moving dangerously for the Shinigami. L would not allow it. "I got killed for him!" Light suddenly shouted. "My father was killed because of him!"

"That's unfortunate," L offered quietly. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." He didn't mean it, but said it with an intentionally blunt tone to let the Death God know how skeptical he was. Light stared at him for a moment, eyes converted back into blank mirrors.

"You don't even believe me," he observed after a moment.

"Not really, no," L said. "I do believe, however, that you were traumatized by a gun. L obviously had reasons to suspect you. Still, if he locked you up, then I know you're not Kira due to the thirteen day rule. Unless," L began.

"Unless what?" Light asked, his face smoothing into an unreadable expression.

"Unless the reason you were shot was because you failed to consecutively write another name within thirteen days." It was faint, but Light's lips tightened slightly. _Bingo. Lawliet: one. Light: one. The score is finally changing_, L thought triumphantly.

"Only problem with that is if the human fails to keep writing, then they die of a heart attack." Light's face was completely unreadable, but in his eyes, L saw a hint of annoyance.

_Tricky little brat_, L hissed within his mind. There were still one more card to play and it involved careful observation. He needed to catch a hint that Light was lying. Anything from a slight twitch of the fingers or movement of the eyes would do, but Light the kind of person who thought on L's level, meaning he was a flawless liar. If the Shinigami was a human, then L wouldn't have doubted his lie detecting abilities in the slightest, but Light wasn't human, and even if he was, he was still a great actor. But he had to try.

"L obviously became aware of the existence of the notebook due to the fact he captured the first Kira," L mused. "Tell me Light, when you were confined, was he aware of the notebook's existence?"

"No," Light answered. L gave the Death God a hard look before continuing.

"Is it possible for a user to set a time of death months or years in advance?" Light was silent for a moment, his face a picture of perfection and stoniness. L instantly began to analyze every single angle of the Shinigami's body, searching desperately for any sign of discomfort.

"It is possible," Light began slowly, "but only within 23 days after the date you write the name. This is called the 23 day rule. You may also control a human's actions within those 23 days. However, after that, if the cause of death is not specified the human under control will die of a heart attack. I was confined for 50 days." Light didn't so much as breathe any differently.

_I can't tell if he's lying or not_, L thought in frustration. _If L confined him for 50 days, combined with this new 23 day rule and the 13 day rule, he should have died 14 days before he was released had he been Kira. Either he's caught on to me, or he's telling the truth and I'm almost certain he's caught on to me. 98.4 percent sure._

"You're not a very trustworthy person, Light," L said out loud, holding his tongue against the nasty comment festering putridly in his mind. Light's guarded expression melted into one of fake hurt and he turned his face away for added effect.

_Yeah, real cute_, L thought sarcastically. _I'm humiliated to think that I'm possibly being manipulated by such a drama queen. _

"It's fine that you don't believe me, but I know I'm telling the truth. L ruined my life on a one percent suspicion when he had other suspects as well." L was about to goad the Shinigami further by claiming he was lying, but his voice lodged in his throat as soon as Light spoke again. "He's the one that made me so afraid of guns. I mean, I'm okay if they're just on movies, but I do get uncomfortable. If I see one or hear one go off…" he didn't finish. The trauma was apparent, and though L currently despised Light, he remembered how the Shinigami had stood behind him while the clueless mugger waved his weapon around. Light was probably lying about a lot of things, but L knew he was telling the truth about having several bad experiences with guns.

"Getting shot isn't like it is in the movies, is it?" L asked softly, putting all resentment aside for the moment.

"It's not a clean hole, no," Light responded, his brown eyes agonizingly full of pain. "The bullet rips off a chunk of your body."

"How many times were you shot?"

"A lot," Light said. "Can we please get off this now? I'm really sorry I hurt you. This is the first time anything like that has happened."

"You owe me an explanation," L persisted. Light merely gave him an exhausted look, but shrugged.

"I was a police officer that worked under L during the Kira case with my friend Ryuzaki and my father. L suspected me due to my sense of justice and intelligence. He tested me repeatedly but he still found no evidence so I was deemed innocent. L wasn't thrilled, but found another suspect named Kyosuke Higuchi. Ryuzaki and I were sent to apprehend him. He shot us both and we died. He shot me first several times," Light swallowed roughly, "then Ryuzaki." The explanation was brief, but the amount of pain in Light's voice made L almost regret asking him.

_You're a very good actor_, L thought, burying his frustration for his ruined plan. _I can't tell if you're lying or not. Still, relieving the fact that I too might have worked on the Kira case is too dangerous, especially now that I know you were a suspect. L probably had several teams he worked with, so the fact we've never met doesn't bother me. For now I'll play dumb, but I'm keeping my eye on you. I knew you were a snake the moment we met._

"How old are you?" L wondered aloud. The Shinigami opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. The same look that adorned his features the night he couldn't recall his sister's name reappeared.

"I don't remember," he stated honestly. "I didn't think about my age." L tilted his head slightly, ignoring the searing pain it caused his neck.

"Meaning?"

"It's a desensitizing process," Light explained, his voice heavy. "Dalil told me that I have to think of my human life often if I want to remember it, but I've come to the conclusion that it's impossible. For me to be an effective Shinigami, I can have no sympathy for humans."

"And the best way to do that is to forget that you were ever human," L concluded. Light nodded and looked into L's eyes. L found himself lost in those brown depths, a strange warming sensation rising in his cheeks. Light was going to lose his memory, just like him. L suddenly felt a whole new connection to the Shinigami.

L finally completely understood why Light acted the way he did. Why he supported Kira. If it wasn't for L the detective, then he'd still be alive; still human. Of course, L strongly considered the possibility that Light was lying, but at the moment he found himself not caring. Light was a terribly beautiful creature, but to L, he was suddenly human again. L ignored Light's hand and forgot about his changing eyes. They were brown now, not red. They were human.

He suddenly didn't feel so alone. Someone was going to go through the same loss he did. The Death God was going to lose everything, and Light's face showed such horrible agony.

L found himself drawn into the Shinigami's pain. He didn't want to stop it, but feel it. He wanted to know that it was real, that what he thought of as a demon could actually have the same basic emotions as him. Thinking of Light being human brought L forward slowly. Light didn't move away as L lifted a hand to wipe his blood away from his cheek. He relished how soft and cool the Death God's skin felt beneath the pad of his thumb. The pain in Light's eyes lessened and he smiled weakly. It was the most wonderful thing L had ever seen.

_You stupid fool, that's what he wants you to think! You're letting yourself be manipulated! He's a demon, he's not human! He's different from you_, L told himself, desperately trying to break the hold Light had on him. It was his eyes that held the human so possessively. Their light brown depths full of mystery and the raw emotion that drew L closer.

He stopped when his forehead rested against Light's, hand still on his cheek his thumb absentmindedly wiping the blood away. Light didn't show any sign of fear or disgust, but waited. L caught sight of his lips and nervously licked his own in anticipation. Was Light really going to let him do it? L had never been in a situation like this before and began to weigh the percentages that he was misreading the signs. If he advanced any further, Light might very well kill him.

He decided it wasn't worth it, but just as he was about to pull away, Light acted. L's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as Light leaned in closer and pressed his lips to the human's. L felt his heart hammer away in his chest and his face erupt in heat. Light didn't move, and his kiss was gentle and chaste. L marveled at the innocence portrayed by the action, something he wasn't aware Light possessed. However, although soft, Light's mouth was cold and lifeless. L didn't taste anything due to the nature of the kiss, but he was sure that even if he did, he wouldn't find it pleasant.

He wasn't sure what to do, and doubted he'd be able to push Light away, so he was reduced to sitting absolutely still, painfully aware of the contact. Of course he had seen movies with such scenes, but he found them disgusting, especially the slurping sounds. This kiss was silent and still, perfectly passionless. Light might as well have been kissing his mother.

Still, the idea of another person was pressing their lips to his felt foreign, making L's first experience awkward and short. L never once imagined that he'd be in a situation like this. There was so much wrong here, but he was frozen. A darker part of him was actually enjoying it, but the larger part was sputtering and panicking. Thankfully, Light pulled away after a few seconds and smiled warmly, his eyes gentle.

"Thank you, Lawliet," he said. L tried to hold on to the suspicion he felt only moments before, desperately trying to clamber for his scattered thoughts. He attempted to hold onto the memory of Light taking pleasure in touching blood, but as the Shinigami let the top of his head rest against L's chest, he was struck with something.

This pose was familiar. As if guided by something, L ran his hand through Light's hair. There were no feelings behind the movement, just simple impulses. His dark eyes were wide as he once again stared blankly at the wall. His mind had collapsed on itself again. He had just been kissed by a Shinigami, and though his fingers still toyed with Light's hair, he didn't relish the softness. Something about this was so familiar.

L was so caught up in the feeling that he didn't bother to back away from Light. The Shinigami's face remained hidden, along with the fact that his gentle smile had turned into a wicked grin and his eyes were glowing red.

* * *

Light is such an ass and though I wish I could make him the kindly gentleman we all want him to be, alas it would go against cannon and this story already goes against cannon enough methinks. XD

Shout outs for the last chapter go to: **fYr3 ph0nix for help with the Japanese, Ladyblue17, Konoha's Kage, Reichan94, Your Kidney, Barranca, 4udball, Racharae, , Blue-In-Blue, BINGXstarr, Rin50, Deep Faith, zoningout, darkrose821, chibi-eru, realityfling18, and morsmordre87**


	11. Mello's Last Stand

Hey guys I'm back. This chapter is really important so I beg you don't duck out on it. It's also very personal for me so I'd really like to hear your thoughts. I'm just going to let you go until the end. Please let me know what you think! :)

**Betaed by the lovely ladies Amanda Saitou, luckystars132, and tonieboo0013**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note**

* * *

"You came early."

"I know," Near replied. "I have a new case, so our appointments will be fewer."

"Are you afraid?" Near's hand tensed around the small metal car he had been rolling around on the floor.

"No, just bored."

"You answered me."

"Because the answer to that was simple."

"Was it really?"

"Pass." The man laughed, the noise muffled by the thick leather muzzle strapped over his mouth. "Your drawings changed," Near observed, looking around the room to find the usual display of churches and angels absent, replaced by smiling people and random objects such as perfume, puppies, and handbags.

"They finally gave me something to read other than the Bible."

"Why?"

"I've been good, so they decided to let me know what's going on in the outside world." Near noticed the small pile of fashion magazines strewn on top of the white sheets of the cot behind the man.

"It's a nice change," he said softly. Letting his somber gray eyes scan the walls, Near spotted a few crumbled papers on the other side of the room. That was strange. The man never wasted sketchbook paper considering he was on a limited supply. "Why did you crumble those papers?"

"I didn't like the drawing," he answered simply, his shoulders moving beneath his straitjacket in a shrug. Near abandoned his toy car and walked over to where the crumpled pages lay. Settling in his usual sitting position, he picked up one of the paper wads and carefully unfolded it.

"She's beautiful," the detective commented, as he smoothed away the wrinkles. The woman who stared back at him was in the midst of tossing her head back, a cascade of black hair flowing down her back with a few wispy strands gliding across her cheeks and mouth. Jagged bangs hung across her forehead, while her eyes were mysterious and dangerous, teasingly staring from behind the curtain of hair. The pencil work was amazing. Her frilly Lolita dress was obviously made of silk, drawn so professionally that Near almost had the urge to run his fingers across the page to feel the texture. Near was a logical person, and by no means had any taste in art, but he found no errors or odd distortions. The picture might as well have been a photograph.

"Yeah, she is," the man agreed, his voice hollow.

"I don't understand why you crumpled it," Near stated, picking up another wad of paper and unfolding it. As he expected it was the same woman, only in this sketch she was sitting on a throne, her glossy lips succulently enclosed around a plump cherry. She looked like a dark queen, her eyes heavily shadowed with makeup and a large ornate cross resting on the swell of her breasts.

The way she was lavishly decorated vaguely reminded him of Misa Amane, but unlike the blond twit of a girl, there was something actually foul about this woman. Amane's happy spirit dampened her wannabe gothic photos, but this woman actually seemed to play the part. Even her skin tone was darker and there was something…_evil _about her. Despite the image being a mere drawing, Near spotted a mocking glint in her pale eyes, like she truly was a queen and the rest of the world her servants.

Each pencil stroke was expertly applied just like the first drawing. The sketch was gray, but Near clearly imagined her lips a deep shade of red, like a poison apple. Why the man wanted to destroy these pictures was lost to him.

"I didn't like the picture," the man explained again. "Diva Birthday was a horrible model." Near felt his eyes widen at the mention of the woman's name.

"You mean…?" He turned to stare at the back of the man's head.

"Yeah, that's her," he sighed. Then as an afterthought he added quietly to himself, "Poor, poor Beyond." The detective briefly analyzed the odd statement, but decided it was just one of the many quirks that made the man's personality. Near let his surprised expression fade back into its usual blank look, then abandoned the drawings to flip through one of the magazines. He stopped turning the pages when he found the article from where the man had taken the pictures.

_Today is the day Olah Magazine mourns the death of one of our most beautiful, top notch models, Miss Diva Birthday. Known as the Seductress of Darkness by her coworkers, it was exactly nineteen years ago from today that she was tragically killed in a freak train accident. _

Near stopped reading after that, and tossed the magazine back on the bed. He decided not to pry anymore. He was already uncomfortably close with the man, but more importantly, Near was returning the man's simple courtesy of not sticking his head into places it didn't belong.

"Shall we go?" he asked, moving to stand behind the vertical board.

"Up to you." Without another word, Near began to undo the thick straps that held the mental patient in place.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roger glared uncomfortably from the window of the medical director's office. He had a clear view of the hospital's grounds and the barbed wire electric fence that stood imposingly around the yard's boarders. The grass rippled in the breeze, while armed men with snipers poised ready on the guard towers. It was a beautiful day unlike the last visit, but Roger was oblivious to the dreadfully cheery sunshine. The old man wanted nothing more than to return to his insect collection rather than have to sit and wait for Near to finish whatever sick game he was playing.

He instantly felt guilty for the thought. Near, or as Roger preferred, Nate, had always been a troubled child. However, after all the years of knowing him, Roger still wasn't entirely sure what the child had gone through before Quillish brought him to the Wammy House. All he concurred from the files the previous orphanage provided was that Nate had come from a two person home shared by his father and older sister. The father had died of cancer and left him in the care of the sister, but she had apparently signed him off to their care for unknown reasons then promptly vanished. Nate was just as, if not more, socially inept and bitter then as he was now.

Guilt was like an awful biting mosquito; which was a shame, since Roger found mosquitoes fascinating, but his brain found no other metaphor to describe it. Roger sighed, produced a handkerchief from the front pocket of his suit and dabbed the sweat off his receding hairline. Nate was just so distant…so guarded. Then again, he was never any good with children. They were messy, loud, and a chore to take care of, but something told him he'd prefer Nate if the man was loud and messy instead of cold and unfeeling.

Guilt really enjoyed his company today, especially now that he was thinking so poorly of his charge. It wasn't Nate's fault he was the way he was. It was just that Quillish and L had been close, like father and son practically. Though Roger wasn't sure he wanted a relationship _that_ intimate, he did want a chance to actually form a relationship of some kind. Nothing too deep, heck he doubted he even wanted a friendship, but an acquaintanceship might be nice. It'd be an improvement from being regarded as a servant through those cunning and distant eyes.

Roger's job was to keep Nate happy, but the problem was it frustratingly impossible to _make _Nate happy, let alone _keep _him happy. No matter how many toys or how many chocolate bars Roger provided, Nate never so much as smiled. No, all Roger got for his hard work was a small 'thank you' which sounded more like a dismissal instead of an act of gratitude. The only thing that made Nate _remotely_ happy was coming here every week and talking to _that man. _

Roger never approved of it. That man was a psychotic disgrace to the world and was supposed to be dead. Roger had secretly hoped during Kira's reign that the man would be one of the first to die, but alas, the one person he knew deserved nothing more than death had been spared. He tried to talk Nate out of it, but Nate only regarded him with a blank stare that was mildly condescending. In the end, Roger chose not to say anything since it was top priority to ensure Nate got whatever he wanted. The whole arrangement made the boy relatively spoiled in Roger's opinion. Like his predecessor, Nate hated to lose, and though he had yet to face such a thing, it wasn't hard to imagine the twenty-year-old throwing himself into a tantrum if the occasion ever occurred.

Regrettably, Roger took the time to stare out the window again and spotted Nate pushing a wheelchair down the pathway leading into a cluster of trees. The man's face was turned back, apparently conversing with Nate, but Roger wasn't for sure. They were distant and the man's mouth was covered with some sort of muzzling device. Whenever Nate requested walking with the man, they always went to that clump of trees, where both of them knew Roger's prying eyes could not see them.

He rubbed his temples in annoyance, keeping the paranoia at bay. Guards were everywhere, but he found not being able to watch over them nerve wracking nonetheless. Insects were so much easier to handle than humans. Plus the fact he actually _enjoyed _their company.

"Watari," a cool feminine voice greeted as the door behind him opened. Roger tore his gaze away from the window just as Nate and the man in the wheelchair disappeared behind the trees.

"Hello, Dr. Winters," Roger replied. The woman automatically headed for her desk and sat down, indicating that Roger was free to do also if he chose. Roger took the invitation and settled in one of the two office chairs. Crossing his legs and placing his hands on his lap, he waited as Dr. Winters adjusted her glasses before fixing on him with a friendly and professional smile.

"It's good to see Ryuzaki again so soon," she said, leaning back in her chair. Dr. Winters' long black hair was tied back into a ponytail and Roger noticed some of her gray roots were showing. It was no wonder she was older than she appeared due to how decorated she was as an M.D. but he still found it rather odd that she chose to hide her age under hair dyes and makeup. Well, that was women for you.

"I'm worried for him," Roger admitted. Dr. Winters face seemed to light up, and she leaned forward until her elbows rested on her desk.

"Really now?" she questioned. Roger took a moment to study her briefly. She was eager to hear his worries, probably wanting Nate to be institutionalized. Dr. Winters was under the impression that he and Nate were proxies for L, checking up on their prized patient. The woman was probably itching to get her hands on more of L's money, which would undoubtedly be the case if she was in charge of one of L's employees. Roger coughed into his sleeve uncomfortably and gave the woman a stern look.

"You are well aware of the fact that I don't approve of Ryuzaki spending time talking with him."

"Well, isn't that part of the procedure?" Dr. Winters asked, her red lips parting in a grin. "One has to interview the patient to see if they're getting the highest standard of care, yes?"

"Be serious," Roger commanded. "You know how frequently he returns isn't normal required procedure." Dr. Winters's grin faded and a shadowed look crossed her face. Silently, she stood from her desk and made her way to the filing cabinet positioned in the corner of the room. A number pad was directly underneath the handle and she punched in the code.

"Each drawer has a different code," she explained. "Every hour, each code resets. If the wrong code is entered more than two times or if someone attempts to manually remove them, all the files inside will be incinerated. Wouldn't want any pesky FBI agents catching wind of our star patient." She laughed as if she had said something particularly clever, but stopped as soon as she was aware of Roger's blank face.

"Intricate system," he commented.

"People don't get to my position if they can't remember a few simple numbers. Besides, all this information is backed up on our computers, though his files are much more heavily guarded. Several passwords are needed and if the system realizes it's being hacked…well, our dear law enforcement friends might end up with a rather nasty tapeworm corrupting their files." Dr. Winters gave him another smile, the crow's feet near her eyes deepening as she did so. At one point, the woman might have been quite attractive, but Roger guessed she was now around his age or possibly older.

"So that entire cabinet is dedicated to him?" Roger uncrossed his legs and let his fingers lace together.

"Of course," the doctor chuckled. "Keeping tabs on him is of the utmost importance. He's very interesting and way too smart for his own good if you ask me." Digging through the open drawer momentarily, her aged hands withdrew an overstuffed manila folder.

"Look through this," the doctor suggested, handing the folder to Roger before sitting cross-legged on top of her desk. "Haven't had to use it in awhile, but that's the record of every 'incident' he's ever caused." Roger regrettably opened the folder and sighed at the first picture. The gore didn't bother him. Working with Nate required a steel stomach, but the fact this man had once been loose amongst the general population was almost enough to make him queasy.

The photo, dated January 30th, 2004, was a snapshot of an elderly woman whose eyes were red and bulging. Multicolored bruises blotted her skin, while blood trickled from her open mouth. The worst wound was a gash on the side of her head that went all the way down to the bone. Roger briefly scanned the document attached to the photo, then lifted his head to meet the doctor's gaze.

"An oxygen mask? Really?" he said incredulously, one eyebrow raised.

"Mrs. Espinosa was getting ready to sedate him when he escaped from his bindings. He grabbed her by the hair and smashed her skull right into the edge of the table, _WHACK_!" Dr. Winters clapped her hands together to demonstrate. Roger felt himself tense slightly at the display. "Stuck the oxygen mask over her face and turned it up all the way."

"You let an elderly woman be alone with him?"

"He seemed like the perfect gentleman at the time. Then again, he was only here for about six days before that incident occurred." Roger adjusted his glasses, before placing the grisly photo and description on his lap to look through the rest of the repulsive file.

"Bashed her skull in," Roger frowned. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"Yes, that's why we introduced the straitjacket."

"How did you cover this one up?"

"Your employer's funds actually came in handy there," Doctor Winters said, folding her arms over her chest. "Poor woman was old and fainted inside a room where there was a leaky tank of concentrated oxygen. The coroner and any other detectives were paid accordingly. " For anybody else, her rather amused tone might have been sickening, but Roger had grown used to her unorthodox personality. There were times of course where he wondered if she was just as crazy as her patients, but regardless of the answer, he found himself not caring. This hospital didn't matter to him. The only reason he knew this place existed was because of that abomination of a man.

"He bit off a man's ear," Roger sighed, letting his fingers grip the bridge of his nose. The picture of the injury showed a ragged open wound on the side of a man's face.

"Yes, that's why we introduced the muzzle," she giggled a little, letting the tips of her long fingers brush the nameplate on her desk. "Luckily Mr. Desai didn't die. However, it might have been cheaper if he had. After eight years, I've come to the conclusion that L gave us so much money to keep him just so we were able to pay for the damages he'd cause."

"Says here the gentleman leaned over him to adjust the straps on that strange vertical bed you put him on," Roger read.

"That's right, and the patient simply turned his head and latched on to Mr. Desai's ear." She snapped her pearly white teeth together and smiled.

"He's also kicked several of your men in the testicles."

"Yes, which is why we introduced the vertical bed to restrain his legs. There's something else I need to show you."

"What is it?" Roger questioned, eyes still trained on the documents before him. Most of the other injuries the man caused where minor, ranging from lacerations, bruises, and bite wounds. There were a few nastier ones, but none that were as gruesome as the first woman.

"I have a videotape of one of his more viscous attacks," Dr. Winters informed. Roger diverted his attention from the pages to give the woman a glare.

"L specifically requested that you never make any video or take any pictures of him," he warned. Dr. Winters merely smiled and shrugged, her long black ponytail bobbing behind her.

"What can I say? I couldn't resist. We usually have him monitored on cameras that don't record, but on this particular day he was…_angrier _than usual. I was just waiting for someone to goad him further." Though Roger hated the man, what he hated more was people blatantly disregarding orders. "Oh, now don't look at me like that," she smiled. "Believe me, the tape is very well hidden and is only assessable to me. Besides, no one other you and I know of its existence."

"I want it destroyed," Roger demanded quietly. "I don't like him, but I don't like people disobeying L more." The doctor's easy air didn't change, and she merely shrugged again. Roger was beginning to find her nonchalance irritating, but held his composure.

"Whatever you say. I was planning on destroying it after you watched it," she explained.

"How long ago was it recorded?"

"Last year."

"Long time to keep something you plan to destroy."

"I never had the need to show it to you until you brought up your worry over Ryuzaki."

"And how will showing me one of his more 'vicious attacks' quell my concern?" Roger let his cheek rest on the palm of his hand as he stared at Dr. Winters over the top of his spectacles. "One might assume doing so would result in the opposite, don't you think?" The doctor laughed, her voice high-pitched and grating on her guest's eardrums.

"You'll see my point very soon, just be patient," she chided playfully, one hand resting on her slim hip. "As you can see from just that one file, and believe me there's more where that came from, my staff has had to deal with his aggression for some years now."

"So you want more money," Roger concluded, disgusted at her avarice. "But what does that have to do with Ryuzaki?"

"Darling, you have it all wrong!" she exclaimed, giggling wildly. "I don't want anymore money. Just watch the tape and see if you can put the pieces together yourself." Without another word, Dr. Winters took a key out of her pocket and bent down behind her desk, smoothing her black skirt over her knees. When she raised herself, she was holding a small black cassette tape which she promptly put in the VCR on the other side of the room. Roger turned his attention to the monitor attached to it and watched blankly as the screen fizzled to life.

The date at the to bottom of the screen read, January 24th, 2009, and the man was strapped into the usual vertical restraints, eyes blindfolded and head hanging limply so it appeared he was staring at the floor.

"Seems pretty quiet doesn't he?" Dr. Winters mused. Roger didn't answer her and continued to watch quietly. Suddenly, the door on the screen opened, and three guards followed by a nurse entered the room. Two of the men went to either side of the man and began to undue the straps that held him to the bed. Once the straps came loose, the man slid down the bed until he was on his knees, head still bowed. The two guards kneeled down next to him and took hold of the sleeves of the straitjacket, while the third did the same from behind, wrapping one arm around the man's neck and placing the opposite hand on top of the patient's head in a sort of headlock.

The nurse seemed nervous as she prepared a hypodermic needle, pushing the plunger down a bit once she filled it with what Roger guessed was a sedative.

"She's young," he commented.

"And she's not supposed to be there," Dr. Winters sighed. "She was one of those fancy university types with a god complex. Thought she could solve the cases I couldn't and… well, you'll see."

The guard on the patient's right side began to fiddle with the back of the straitjacket, until it fell limply down the man's shoulder. Reaching inside, he withdrew the man's limp arm from the sleeve, and grasped the heavily scarred wrist tightly. The nurse crouched before the man and prepared to insert the needle into the arm.

The man seemed perfectly nonresponsive throughout the entire procedure. However, just as the young nurse was about to insert the needle into the flesh of his upturned elbow, the seemingly well-behaved patient moved. His arm contorted inhumanly, wrenching itself away from the other man's grip, before the elbow met with the guard's nose. Though the tape was silent, Roger knew without having to hear the pop that a blow like that definitely broke it.

The injured man fell backwards clutching his face, while the patient snatched the needle out of the nurse's hands and plunged it deep into the arm of the man holding his head from behind. The nurse's mouth opened in a silent scream and she scrambled towards the door, her skirt riding up her thighs as she backed away in a sort of crabwalk. The man released the headlock in surprise and grasped blindly at the needle protruding from his flesh.

The patient's right leg rotated beneath him, and the bottom of his foot collided with the remaining guard's face, sending the man sprawling backwards. Though Roger remained impassive, he was utterly shocked on the inside. The entire attack took less than two seconds, each movement deliberate, as if he had been planning them for years, which might have been true. It wasn't over though, and Roger kept his attention trained on the monitor as he watched the man stand abruptly. He seemed to sway a bit before throwing his bodyweight into the distracted guard behind him.

The uniformed man was larger, but he had been caught off guard and fell against the vertical bed, the hypodermic needle bobbing. The smaller man wasted no time in lunging again, his hands grasping two of the straps on the bed and tightening them around the man's neck, effectively strangling him until he passed out.

"My God," Roger murmured.

"We haven't gotten to the worst part yet," Dr. Winters informed. Roger pursed his lips as the guard finally fell limp, held up by the vertical restraints. The man turned from his first victim, head tilted to the side. Roger found the nurse huddled by the door, her eyes wide with horror. The man was obviously following her voice, as he slowly advanced forward. The woman was clawing at the door handle, but ceased all efforts he crouched before her. Instead she began talking, her lips moving rapidly, and her hands coming up so that her palms faced him. She was trying to ward him off, but whatever she was saying seemed to go straight over his head. Every muscle beneath the thin scrubs was tense and ready to spring upon the helpless girl.

"That's enough," he said, turning away from the monitor. "I still don't see your point."

"He didn't kill her, but he did bang her up pretty badly," Dr. Winters informed, turning off the monitor. "Beat some sense into her if you ask me." Roger removed his glasses to massage his temples before putting them on again and staring into the doctor's pale blue eyes.

"So what's your point?" he repeated. "Showing me how truly aggressive he is only increases my worry for Ryuzaki." The doctor's somewhat creepy cheer vanished and she suddenly looked much older. As she moved away from the monitor to sit behind her desk, her stride seemed like that of the elderly woman she was. She wearily collapsed in her chair and sighed.

"Never in all my years as a doctor have I seen a patient so intelligent. You saw on the tape the way he manipulated the situation to his advantage. Also, I've never seen a patient that blatantly aggressive. Plenty who have attacked on impulse, but I've never had someone who actually coordinates and plans them."

"I'm sure L warned you of that when he decided to leave him in your care, Dr. Winters."

"That he did, and we took the needed precautions," she answered.

"On to the point then," Roger ordered.

"My point is that I've tried everything!" Dr. Winters suddenly exclaimed. "I've given him antipsychotic medication, counseling, shock therapy, regular speech therapy; hell, I've even tried playing Enya when he was sedated."

"That singer from Ireland?" Roger questioned, finding himself slightly amused. "At least I believe she's from Ireland."

"Many of my patients find her voice soothing," the doctor insisted. "Except him. It's not just the staff he's hurt either. He's ran his head through windows, broken several of his own fingers, bitten his nails until they've bled, scratched at his skin grafts, attempted to bite his tongue off, and once during another mental breakdown we caught him trying to claw his eyes out."

"Self mutilation is serious," Roger said, touching his chin in thought. "However, I still fail to see how any of this pertains to Ryuzaki."

"Ever since Ryuzaki started visiting him, all these behaviors have stopped."

"Completely?" Roger asked doubtfully.

"One hundred percent," she confirmed. "The last incident to ever occur was where he decided to head-butt one of the guards in the nose, but after we allowed Ryuzaki to see him, he's been nothing short of an angel."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"Believe what you want, but I'm telling you, Ryuzaki must be trained in the art of psychotherapy, because this man hasn't so much as spat at anyone."

"So you're telling me that once Ryuzaki started checking in on him, all this aggressive behavior magically stopped?"

"Well, not magically," Dr. Winters admitted, removing her glasses and placing them in the front pocket of her white lab coat. "As a sort of experiment, we threatened that Ryuzaki would no longer be allowed to speak face-to-face with him should he continue."

"You know you have no authority to actually go through with it," Roger reminded.

"No, but all that mattered was that he believed us," the doctor explained.

"So your point is that he wants to see Ryuzaki, so he's started to behave himself," Roger concluded.

"Correct!" Dr. Winters exclaimed, her cheery mood returning. "Also, before each psychotic episode, we've noticed a trend." Roger didn't reply, knowing that the doctor was merely pausing for dramatic effect. "He begins to solve these strange equations."

"Equations?" Roger straightened in his chair, white brows furrowed together.

"Here's a copy of one of the pages in his sketchbook." She handed him the paper that was covered in an impossible amount of numbers. Roger pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at the handwriting and scribbles. He was by no means a stupid man, but after five minutes of heatedly studying the parchment, he was just as clueless as he had been previously.

"What is it supposed to mean?" he asked, looking up at the doctor.

"I'm not sure what he's literally trying to say, but my hypothesis is that it was a way for him to release stress and pent up rage," she explained. "As I've said before, he's incredibly intelligent. However, he's also a serial killer. Serial killers often live off a sense of narcissism and superiority. I believe that he finds us inferior to him, whereas he sees Ryuzaki as an equal. Someone worthy of his time, if you will. Simply imagine being stuck in a room full of third grade children for eight years and you have his basic social outlook."

"You make it sound so harmless," Roger muttered. "He and Ryuzaki can connect on the same level because they share the same intelligence, fine. But he's still a _murderer._"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Dr. Winters assured. "Still, neither you nor I have any authority over Ryuzaki."

"Despite how old he seems, Ryuzaki is still young. He's just barely made it out of his teenage years and not only is that man manipulative, he's a master at seduction," Roger informed.

"You're preaching to the choir, but I'm not sure what you want from me. All I can do is assure you that his psychotic breakdowns have ceased and he's actually accepting our help now," she said. "Therapy has revealed many things about him, and I'm finally beginning to understand why he might have committed those murders."

"I know everything there is to know about that man," Roger stated lowly, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "He was raised in one of the finest institutions in England, and regardless of what he went through before arriving, killing three innocent people is inexcusable and I don't want him playing his sick head games with Ryuzaki."

"I'm not saying that therapy will ameliorate all that he's done, but simply give us an understanding of -"

"Because he's sick!" Roger suddenly exclaimed. Dr. Winters snapped her mouth shut and listened quietly. "He's sick and he's in here for the rest of his life so I fail to see the point in trying to fix him! His brother turned out perfectly fine and worked alongside L." Roger coughed into the sleeve of his suit and calmed himself. There was no need to get worked up. Soon, he'd be back at Wammy's with his precious insect collection. The lunar moth caterpillars were just about to retreat into their chrysalises.

"I understand a young lady was his second victim." Dr. Winters tightened her ponytail, her voice suddenly solemn. "Her mother was away at work all the time and she was lonely with no father."

"He lured her over the internet. At the crime scene there was no forced entry, meaning she let him in. He took advantage of an innocent, trusting young girl. He was grooming her for months before he decided to find and kill her." Roger let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. "He was supposed to receive the death penalty."

"As horrible as that sounds, Ryuzaki isn't an innocent, trusting, young girl," Dr. Winters assured. "He deals with these kinds of people all the time. He works for the greatest detective in the world after all. It's what he lives for. Why would this man be any different? Besides, as I said before, all his erratic behaviors have stopped since Ryuzaki started coming."

"That still doesn't make me any less worried."

"I'm sure you won't have to worry about Ryuzaki," the doctor began. "I doubt with his condition he'd be able to trust anybody even if he wanted to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Roger questioned, his voice rising slightly. He felt his fingers tighten on the armrests of the chair, his aged knuckles aching softly. The doctor pursed her lips, while her fingers fiddled slightly with one of the buttons on her coat.

"Nevermind," she answered softly, her pale blue eyes meeting with his own. "It's merely speculation."

"No, I'd like to hear this 'condition' you think Ryuzaki has," he stated. The doctor sighed, and tucked a strand of loose black hair behind her ear.

"I think," she began uncomfortably, "Ryuzaki suffers from Schizoid Personality Disorder," Roger remained silent and waited for her to explain the outlandish claim. Noticing she was not met by furious denial the doctor continued. "Though this only affects about 1 percent of the world's population, it is apparent that Ryuzaki's skill in human interaction is lacking to say the least."

"Go on," Roger murmured, lacing his fingers together.

"From what I'm able to observe, he displays all the signs: few if any close relationships, lack of sexual interest, few if any hobbies, preference for solitary activities, such as his puzzles, indifference to praise or criticism, and of course, the biggest one is his lack of communication to what he views as the Outside."

"Well, he has his toys," Roger stated. "There's a hobby, and he's only aloof with people he doesn't know. Also, he's a very busy man and has very little time to form relationships of any kind."

"A twenty year old man playing with toys is not normal and he still finds the time to come here to speak with our patient," Dr. Winters reasoned. "Besides, many with this disorder have a 'comfort' object that they use as a way to interact. Of course, nobody pays attention because they don't know what to look for. Do you notice the way he places all his objects around himself?"

"Yes," Roger answered hesitantly.

"That's his way of saying 'keep out and don't you dare try to enter'. Was he neglected as a young child?" Roger stiffened and the slight unease he was feeling vanished. He straightened his back and pushed his glasses up his nose. These types of questions were all business, his comfort zone.

"That's classified."

"Well, has he ever shown any kind of aggression towards someone who, let's say, knocked one of his toys over?" If Roger had been less than a man, he might have paled, but he kept his stony mask tightly in place. There was nothing wrong with Nate. If anything, his emotional boundaries were a good thing. It made him more efficient as a detective and kept him ready to solve a case. This woman had no idea what she was talking about.

"That's also classified. Ryuzaki is in no need of your 'expertise' nor will he ever be, so I suggest you put your medical training into something useful, like how to put that monster you call a patient into a coma."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Near stopped once they were safely behind their usual clump of trees, the wheelchair bumping against his palms as it came to a halt. Rubbing his sensitive eyes for a moment, he reached behind the man's head and began fiddling with the buckles of the muzzle.

"That's my hair," the man mumbled, causing the device on his head to shift slightly, much to Near's annoyance.

"Please remain still so I may be able to release this clasp," he requested. "Those apes made sure this was secure." After a moment of fumbling, he finally loosened the buckle and the muzzle slipped off the man's face and fell into his lap. The man shook his head and opened his mouth, his black hair whipping across his face.

"Finally," he sighed after flexing his jaw. Near didn't respond and instead crouched at the man's side and undid the bindings that trapped the man's wrists against the armrests of the wheelchair.

"Don't take the bandages off your eyes and don't try to undo the bindings on your ankles or I'll shoot you before the guards have a chance to," Near warned, letting his fingers wrap around the handle of the handgun in his back pocket. Lifting the weapon, he tapped the man's temple with the barrel to show he wasn't bluffing.

Near felt his chest tighten as the man jumped slightly at the contact. He hated using such crude threats. The detective usually never carried a gun on his person, but although he was gradually letting the man get close to him, he wasn't stupid. This man murdered several people in cold blood and was easily capable of turning on him. Near knew that if the occasion called for it, he'd be able to shoot him without a second thought.

"Of course not," the man began. He carefully turned his head in Near's general direction, completely rigid as the metal pressed into his temple. "You're not ready for that." Despite the white bandages, Near practically saw those wide piercing eyes staring into his own, but he didn't falter as he spoke again.

"I doubt we'll advance that far." His walls were firmly in place, though there were a few cracks that allowed a frail connection between them.

"Whatever you say," the man replied. It didn't sound like the exasperated whine of a teenager, nor the sarcastic remark of an individual that had been denied something. His tone was completely neutral, as if he didn't care one way or the other, and that put Near at ease. Carefully pocketing the gun, Near withdrew the second object.

"Here," he said, unwrapping a large chocolate bar and snapping it in half between thumb and forefinger. The sound of aluminum and paper shredding instantly caused the man to straighten in his chair and gaze heatedly in the detective's general direction. The man held out his hands and Near placed the chocolate in his outstretched palm.

The murderer's mouth curved into a smile as he clutched the end of the bar, mimicking the way Near held it carefully between two fingers. The detective watched calmly as he gingerly broke off another smaller piece and popped it in his mouth, where he let it slid around on his tongue, preferring to let is melt slowly as opposed to chewing it. Near found that he liked to chew, often getting impatient with waiting for it to slowly dissolve. Besides, Mello ate his chocolate that way, ripping off large chunks and chewing ferociously.

Near took a bite of his own half and chewed placidly, staring out from the shade of the trees at what a normal person might call a beautiful day. To Near however, days full of sunshine were days full of torture. The sun was the ever bright, burning orb in the sky that made his fair skin erupt in fire. He recalled all the times Linda begged him to play outside and almost shuddered.

The emerald grass was still damp from the rainstorm a few days ago, and he felt the moisture soak through the leg of his jeans as he settled into his normal sitting position. The hand that wasn't holding the chocolate was twitching uncomfortably, but Near paid no attention. This was the hard part, talking to the man one-on-one without the stimulant of toys to help him think.

He hated it, but knew it was necessary if he was going to be any good at communicating. He needed to be able to rely on himself just as much as he relied on Gevanni, Rester, Roger, and Lidner. Near had long ago come to the conclusion that he'd never be as good as the first L, but he needed to try his hardest to get as close as mentally possible. That meant finally leaving his own safe world and living on the Outside. Mello died bringing Kira to justice, knowing Near was going to become what he wanted the most. He owed it to Mello to make himself better, to make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain. Quillish Wammy had just begun to open the door that kept Near separated from the Outside, now the murderer was finishing it.

"The chocolate is sweeter here than from where I come from," the man mused.

"Is it?" Near muttered, not really paying attention.

"Chocolate over there is like bitter sludge compared to England's. I don't know how Mello survived as long as he did."

A burst of laughter snapped Near out of his thoughts, and he looked up at the man in alarm. His head was tilted back, and his shoulders shook roughly. Near never heard the man laugh before, and found the sound peculiar to say the least. The detective stiffened as the man's hand reached for the bandages, but calmed once he realized he was only scratching the back of his head. His laugh died after a few moments, receding into quiet chuckles.

"He's rubbed off on both of us hasn't he?" Near stopped mid-chew and swallowed the hunk of chocolate he had been gnawing on for the past few minutes. Mello's face came to mind again and Near felt a strange sensation overcome him. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but the kind that made him feel like something was eating him from the inside. It made his cheeks burn and palms sweat. His heart suddenly seemed to be made of lead, and dropped into the pit of his stomach. Was this what guilt was?

"I guess he did," Near murmured softly. The man's smile faded and he took another piece of chocolate in his mouth. After a moment of letting it soften, he swallowed and ran his tongue across his pale lips. Near noticed the remnants of deep scars on the corners of the man's mouth, barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

"It's not your fault, you know," the man stated quietly, turning his head so it appeared he was looking out at the wide yard. "Mello did what Mello wanted to do. You wouldn't have been able to stop him even if you wanted to." Near absentmindedly began ripping up chunks of grass, agitated that he didn't have a toy to tinker with. He found himself unable to focus clearly, and the horrible feeling that was attached to Mello's face intensified.

"I know," he finally answered. He didn't believe it now that he really thought about it. He knew Mello wanted L's title more than anything in the world, but he had effortlessly snatched it away from him. Despite that, Near always envied Mello. He was the one that L had taken interest in, the one person the century's greatest detective actually met in person instead of over a laptop connection.

Mello had a best friend in Matt, intelligence, and a great future if he so chose. Near only had himself. Mello never saw it that way. He never realized how many things he had over Near, how angry the younger boy became when he knew was too distant to make friends, when he finally came to the conclusion that by retreating inside his mind he had trapped himself forever. Perhaps, no matter how petty and childish it seemed, that was why Near had been determined to run Mello's dream into the ground. From the moment L had said he wasn't interested in justice, he had become the only person that fascinated Near, the only person he idolized.

However, Mello was the one L had taken a liking to, Mello was the one L thought worthy to meet. Near was just another nameless child. His isolation had become his downfall. Still staring intently at the man's profile the habitual paranoia crept up on him. Did he blame Near for what happened to Mello? Was he only saying it wasn't his fault to lull him into a false sense of security before he made his move? Maybe these unofficial therapy sessions were part of the man's plan to bring about his downfall. The detective's fingers tightened on the fistful of grass as he tried to read the man's face. However, it was virtually impossible due to his covered eyes.

"I can't forgive you," the man began, "unless you forgive yourself."

"I thought you said it wasn't my fault," Near bristled. How did the man know that he was feeling guilty? Perhaps Near had let a few things slip during their talks, but that didn't matter. What mattered was Near's suspicion was confirmed.

"Just because it wasn't your fault doesn't mean I don't blame you," the man answered. "And the only reason I blame you is because you blame yourself."

"What brought you to the conclusion that I blame myself at all?" Near responded, voice acidic. "Mello did what Mello wanted. I never forced him to help track down Kira, he did it all on his own. And though I'm grateful for his help, I never asked him to join us."

"Because you know you were the person that made him the most miserable," the man answered the question softly. "You took what he lived and breathed for like it was nothing. Any normal human would feel guilty."

"I'm not normal," Near said before he could stop himself. There was a deep stab of pain once the words escaped his mouth. Those three little words created the worst kind of weapon in the world. Near's _own_ admittance to his _own_ unorthodoxy, his _own_ confession of his faulty wiring. _I'm not normal. I'm better, but different. I'm alone. Alone. Lonely._

"Yes you are!" the man snapped, causing Near to startle slightly. "You're normal underneath all the bullshit those stupid bastards piled on you!" Near's gray eyes were wide as he gazed at the man in shock. There was such emotion in his voice, and though Near dreaded feeling, those words were the antidote to the pain.

"Sorry," the man murmured. "I'm just bitter. Don't pay any attention to me."

"It's fine," Near replied in an empty voice. Inside his head, thoughts were rising like a tsunami. That was the first time anybody had called him normal, and although he knew it wasn't true, he liked to think that maybe he had the capacity to be normal instead of the distant enigma. Little had Mello known, was that Near wanted to be like him from the beginning. Everyone including L found the blond dangerous, intriguing, and fascinating, while they found Near irritating, condescending, and needlessly cold.

There was silence as the two submerged themselves in their own thoughts.

"I read Mello's notes about you." Near decided to switch topics when the air between them became tense and awkward.

"Really?" The man's head tilted back so that his covered eyes were staring up at the branches of the trees. "I wasn't aware there were any."

"He refers to me as 'the big-headed twit'." The man laughed again, his spidery hands resting on his shaking chest.

"That sounds like him," he smiled as his laughter died in his throat. "Hate to think what he thought about me."

"He said he had great sympathy for you," Near reported. "He understood." The man's smile faded and his face became unreadable. Near studied him for awhile, watching as his lips twitched every so often, until he let out a breathy sigh.

"Damn it, Mello." One hand came to rest on his forehead, where he kneaded his temples through the bandages. "Are you Near or L today?" Near gave him a curious look.

"Why?" he questioned warily.

"Please just answer," it wasn't a demand, but a pleading request.

"Near."

"This new case you mentioned, it's another Kira isn't it?" Although the information was classified, there was nothing that the man could possibly do to ruin anything. Near answered truthfully.

"Yes."

"I want to tell you something," the man began. "Do you want to listen?" Near thought for a moment and quickly decided to grant permission. He wasn't sure what the man had planned, but not only was he interested, he genuinely wanted to know. His reaction to Mello's notes was strange and intriguing.

"Yes."

"During the Napoleonic Wars, you know that France attempted to invade Russia, right?"

"The Russians retreated deeper into their country, burning everything so that Napoleon's army would be without food, yes I'm aware," Near answered. The man ran a hand through his thick black hair before continuing.

"The French didn't make it out too well. By the time Napoleon decided to retreat, his entire army was frostbitten and starving and they had to walk back they way they came. I guess what I'm trying to say is don't be like the French. Kira is going to retreat somewhere nasty and if you follow him long enough you won't be able to turn back without dying. Especially since Mello…" he trailed off and turned away, the wheelchair squeaking slightly as his weight shifted.

_Especially since Mello isn't alive to do it for you, _Near finished in his mind.

"What's your favorite animal?" the man asked suddenly. Near blinked a few times in bewilderment. The question had come out of nowhere and seemed completely random. Near's brows furrowed a bit, not knowing the answer. He never really gave animals much thought before.

"I don't have one," he finally said, fingers uncomfortably tearing at the blades of grass. The stems made dull popping sounds as they snapped between Near's snowy fingers. The detective took another bite of his chocolate bar.

"Then today's your day to pick one," the man said. "Unless you feel I'm being pushy. In that case, you can just wheel me back into my hole."

Near didn't answer and let the knuckle of his pointer finger brush his lips. Favorite animal? What a childish question. Near tried to see around it. Was it possibly a trap? What could he possibly gain from knowing such an answer? He thought of what L would do when asked a question like this, but the problem was that he never met L in person. So he went to the next best option. What would Mello have done?

The biting feeling that had gradually faded away returned with a sharp kick to his gut. He knew what Mello would have done. Near hated thinking about Mello, because thinking about Mello made him think about all the things he hated about himself. He almost always felt superior, untouchable and unobtainable, but these pangs of hidden self loathing were enough to nearly make him want to crawl out of his own body.

Mello was a constant reminder of how cowardly Near was. Mello had placed himself in the line of fire, associating himself with the mafia and risking his life, all to catch Kira. Near had done the same, but not to the point of Mello. Mello ended up getting both himself and Matt killed, but Near knew he never would have been able to defeat Kira had it not been for Mello's information on the notebook. If Mello hadn't have acted, Near knew he would not be sitting here.

He remembered the warehouse, where Light Yagami lost his mind once he was found out. He remembered how the murderer desperately scrawled his name on a hidden piece of the Death Note. That was the first time Near had been afraid, truly and utterly terrified. Light had only needed to write the final 'r' in Nate River. Had it not been for Matsuda…

The point was Mello had been brave. Near knew he was not brave. He was the biggest coward he knew. Perhaps this was the time to finally speak up and give the man some information about himself that no one besides Roger knew. Mello would have done the same, but Near wasn't Mello. His words always got in his way. Perhaps this was why the man thought of the question. Maybe he was trying to give Near an opportunity to craft some sort of riddle. What was the riddle going to be? Usually people got to know each other by talking about their childhoods. At least, that was what they did on, _I Love Lucy. _Biting his lower lip, he mentally prepared himself to take the plunge. The man was thankfully silent as Near got his bearings, the riddle in place.

"Sea turtles," he finally answered, his voice coming out awfully detached. "When I was a child, I liked sea turtles." Near kept his gaze steady on the other man's face waiting for a reaction. To Near's utter shock, the man answered.

"When sea turtles are born, their mothers lay their eggs and leave them. When the turtles hatch, they have to raise themselves." Near felt the hard knot he hadn't been aware of in his stomach loosen. The man figured it out, but wasn't blatantly stating the obvious. Near was overcome with gratefulness and respect. His childhood wasn't anything to brag about and although he had barely given the man a hint, it was more than he divulged to anyone else.

"The turtles survive despite being alone," Near stated quietly.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" the man startled, jumping slightly in his wheelchair. Near watched as he turned and began digging at his side. "I wanted to give you something." The detective didn't argue and merely watched as the man handed him a folded piece of white sketchbook paper. "I drew it when I was sixteen so I'm not sure if it will be any good, but you said all his pictures were destroyed."

Silently, Near unfolded the paper and felt the knot reform itself with a vengeance. The sketch wasn't as clean as the man's current works, but it was still skillfully drawn. A very young Mello was leaning back against a young Matt, dozing peacefully. Matt was toying with some sort of game consol, seemingly oblivious to his companion. Mello's hair was spread across his face, his piercing eyes closed. Even as a teenager, the man added textures flawlessly. Near was amazed at how soft Mello and Matt's hair looked. He liked the picture. It was the first time he had seen Mello's face for six months, and despite the fact that it was only an old sketch, Near felt his mouth twitch slightly. However, it wasn't his usual annoyance or half grimace. It was almost a smile. He hadn't smiled since the Kira case.

"Matt has glasses," Near observed.

"Well, that was before Mello got him into the sport of roughhousing. You have no idea how many times that brat kicked him in the face before Roger was willing to get him those stupid goggles."

Near finished the last of his chocolate, then refolded the picture and placed it in his pocket. As he withdrew his hand, his fingers closed around one of the finger puppets he had created. He remembered the day Mello had slipped in to reclaim the last photograph of himself, just before giving Near the information he needed to solve the case. Almost as if tumbling from a strange abyss, the words Mello spoke to him moved from his lips.

"It will upset me if I just leave without giving you something in return." Removing one of the tiny figures he had successfully ignored from his pocket, he stood up and took the man's hand within his own. The man's face turned to look at him curiously. Near turned the hand so that the palm was face up, and dropped the small L figurine before curling the man's fingers around it. "I don't need that one anymore."

The man felt the toy, the tips of his fingers running over the thick wooden spikes of the mini L's hair. Near watched the man's lips, but they didn't move. His long, graceful fingers ran over the puppet for a while longer, until he spoke again.

"I want to help you," he said. Near lowered his gaze to the ground in thought. His own fingers ran across the single folded piece of paper. Mello had been brave and took risks. Part of Near becoming as good as L called for him to take risks. Mello had preformed this flawlessly and although he had been killed, Near wasn't going to throw caution into the wind. It still wasn't confirmed that this was a new Kira, but what the man was offering was almost too tempting to pass up. Despite being a murderer, he was incredibly intelligent and incredibly seductive. Near grudgingly admitted that he too almost fell for it, but the main issue was what the man possessed. He had something that this supposed Kira would definitely come for. Risks, risks, risks. He was going to crush this self-loathing once and for all. Cowardice didn't become of him.

"What do you have in mind?"

* * *

Well, what did you think. I know a lot of people who read this don't like Near, but this chapter was a huge plot turn that had to be written in his point of veiw. This chapter was very personal so me because my own little adopted brother suffers from the same disorder, and Near displays all the symptoms. I guess that's why I have a soft spot for the little guy. So what are your theories? I'm interested to hear what you come up with. That is if you stuck around, if you did I will love you forever!

Shout outs go to: **Emmeline-Liotte, Kyra123 (I missed you!3) Warratah, fYr3 ph03nix, xINFRAxREDx, Rollo, darkrose821, wednesday1990, re, Psychopomp1725, 4udball, Rei-chan94, Blue-In-Blue, Nuka Cola, BINGXstarr and morsmordre87**

**THANK YOU ALL FOR KEEPING ME MOTIVATED! **Let me know what you think. This is probably going to be the biggest fanfiction I ever write so stay tuned for awhile now.


	12. Soul Break

Hello! I'm back everybody! I'm proud to annouce that currently, this story has 202 reviews! WOOT you guys are great. Thank you so much even though the last chapter was Near again. He is important and I warned you of this *shakes finger*

**Betaed by luckystars123 and tonieboo0013**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note**

* * *

Midora was bored and stuck with thirteen apples she didn't want. Ryuk had given them to her out of spite, knowing full well that she preferred bananas. Her thin arms clasped them closely to her body as she stared hatefully at them. No matter how much she morphed them in her mind or how hard she glared at them, they refused to turn into the delicious elongated fruit she so craved. Their nauseating red skin remained the same with no indication or intention of turning yellow.

Bored and more aggravated than she had ever been before, Midora's tail swished back and forth across the sand like that of an angry cat's. Instead of having a good gamble, she was trapped in this desolate world with a bunch of gossiping mutants. Her plump lips pulled back from her dagger-like teeth as she snarled lowly to herself. This was all Ryuk's fault. Ever since he dropped his Death Note and recommended the human who picked it up to become a newborn, all the other Shinigami talked about was Kira. Kira this, Kira that. Kira, Kira, Kira. It was enough to make Midora want to dig her webbed hands into her eye sockets and blind herself.

"That was an act of love!"

"Shut up, no it wasn't!"

"He was just trying to get the human to trust him."

"But that's forbidden."

"No, having sex with a human is forbidden."

"Wasn't that what Kira just did?"

"Are you an idiot? That was just a kiss."

"Kiss?"

"All of you shut up!" Midora yelled, her long tail twitching in irritation. The other Death Gods looked over their shoulders at her, some hissed and snarled, while others merely gave her a glare.

"If we're bothering you so much, why don't you just fly off somewhere else?" one of them asked. Midora gave a low rumbling growl for an answer and lumbered away. She didn't need to explain herself to them. Her skin ached as the heat of the Shinigami World seeped into her pores. How she hated the heat. Midora's spotted skin was that of an amphibian's and she was always in search of cool damp place to hide away in.

At least when Kira was here for a short time the realm had been cool. All the moisture had been sapped away as if to stroke the fires of Midora's ever growing fury, but _at least _there had been no heat. Her large eyes scanned over the various groups of Shinigami in annoyance as they all watched that dammed newborn. Everyone including The King, or as Midora still referred to him, the old man, seemed to think he was some kind of savior. Midora grunted in amusement at the thought. A newborn as a savior. _Right_…

She finally stopped trudging through the thick sand and sat down when she came to a nicely shaded spot under a large pile of skulls. Dalil would have a field day if she were here. Thinking of Dalil made Midora even more annoyed. Out of all the Shinigami to be taken with the newborn, Dalil was the last one she had expected to fall under the Kira fad. Alas, even Dalil, the most apathetic Shinigami when it came to the human world, was transfixed with the stupid brat, and Midora held the sudden depressing notion she was the last intelligent Death God left.

She dropped her bushel and the plump red fruit tumbled to the sand with muffled thuds. Time to find a human to write in her Death Note. She was probably the only one who still looked in the human world for actual humans. Glaring into one of the looking pools, she began her search. So far all the numbers she spotted didn't spark her interest. Midora had a preference when it came to killing humans and no matter how hard she searched the endless sea of them, her hunt proved futile.

She preferred middle-aged humans who were either extremely wealthy or extremely vain. Both were ideal, but usually she was only lucky enough to find one of the traits. Wealthy humans tended to be older and boring, while the more attractive ones although vain, were too young for Midora's tastes. She was a level seven Death God, meaning she was able to absorb almost 200 years worth of lifespan, but taking the life of a younger human seemed a bit unfair. Midora had very little sympathy when it came to the monkey-like creatures, but killing them before they had a chance to make themselves worth killing was a waste, in her opinion. As she continued to watch the endless sea of humans, a sort of odd checklist formed itself in her head.

Too fat.

Too young.

Too old.

Only twelve minutes left on that one's lifespan.

They bred like rabbits yet not one of them was worth killing. Midora twiddled with the disfigured pen between her knobby fingers as her bulging eyes went from one human to the other.

No. No. No. Wait.

Midora ceased her efforts when she spotted a human that wasn't necessarily in her preferences, but was fascinating nonetheless. Shifting her gigantic body around for a quick glance at the other Death Gods, she resumed her vigil. He was such a peculiar human, so peculiar in fact that the other humans locked him away. His lifespan was constantly shifting and changing, a very rare occurrence that Midora in all her centuries of living had yet to see. She liked that. Writing his name in the Death Note would be like playing a slot machine. One had to finish writing the name just as the numbers reached their peak in order to gain the most lifespan.

If there was anything Midora loved it had to be gambling. Still, she didn't want to kill him. For some reason, the way he looked was oddly appealing and yet the other humans trapped him behind a door. Their auras turned a musty gray whenever they approached him, meaning they were afraid of him. His own aura was a mix of red and dark purple, showing he was volatile, yet capable of maintaining control over his violent actions. Midora's smile curved higher. Maybe she wouldn't be so bored after all. Ryuk wasn't the only Death God who was able to find a human to amuse him.

The King wasn't easy to fool, but he was easy to bribe. She had thirteen apples she definitely wasn't going to eat, and a human she found she wanted to study more closely. She was bored and in need of entertainment. Ryuk thought he was so great when he found Kira, but now it was Midora's turn. Gathering up her apples with a quiet rumble of a giggle, she made her way to the Shinigami King.

---------------------------------------------

Light was beginning to scare himself. It had been two weeks since the attempted mugging, and the strange lapses in mood were beginning to get out of control. One minute, he'd be perfectly fine seeing everyone's lifespan, then the next, a strange hunger would overcome him and he'd want to kill. He had truly been regretful when he saw Barbra Wilson's lifespan cut down, but as soon as he saw the elderly gentleman named Andrew Gladstone, he had wanted to follow him and write down the most gruesome cause of death imaginable. Heart attacks weren't good enough. Something inside him wanted to see blood. He shuddered as he remembered the way his flesh seemed to erupt in pleasure as he dragged L's blood-soaked hand across his cheek.

Light was now looking down at the ex-detective from the corner of the room, his face solemn as his brown eyes took in the ugly purplish bruises and jagged scrapes across L's shoulders. The human picked up the habit of wearing loose fitting shirts and Light knew it was to spite him. At first it had been annoying and seemingly childish, but after staring at the wounds for so long, he began to think differently. He was much stronger than L, and he had allowed himself to lose control over a simple gunshot. With a begrudging sense of regret, Light knew L had every right to flaunt his injuries.

Yet Light had yet to apologize. Just imagining the scene made him nauseated. It wasn't entirely his fault, or at least that was what he told himself. As soon as that idiot of a mugger accidentally set his gun off, Light had been thrust back in time to the warehouse. Matsuda was screaming and that little bastard Near had been watching with those hideously wide eyes. His body had been thrown into a panic, reliving every single bullet that had torn into his flesh. He ran to the enraged Matsuda, begging him to stop, shaking his shoulders and trying to see a hint of compassion in the young detective's eyes.

He had been met with only blackness and pure hate. Matsuda had trusted him completely, and as Light screamed, his former peer hurled insults and pulled the trigger to his gun over and over. Tears had slipped down Matsuda's face, but they were tears of disgust and outrage. Then Matsuda shifted into his father, holding a revolver to his head, that same black look in his eyes. Misa had been next to him crying, while his father said those awful things that Light hadn't been aware were true. It had all been a test, but that didn't make the ordeal any less frightening. Then as soon as his father pulled the trigger, Light found himself against L's chest, trembling in fear and humiliated.

L turned to look at the small black and white television set he kept on his bookshelf before returning to writing in the little journal he bought. He had Light replace the pages with pieces of the Death Note a few days ago, and now L had created his own system when writing names.

The letters of a name were scattered throughout the page, then other letters were filled in around the letters to make the entire entry seem like a sentence. Light wondered why he never thought of this before, but didn't dwell on it. He had bigger things to worry about, like the kiss in the alley. That strange something that made Light think so darkly had taken over. Of course, Light himself had wanted to kiss L no matter how strange it seemed, but the idea that came along with it had formed on its own accord.

The absurd notion that L was falling for him made itself prevalent when the human had leaned forward ever so slightly and licked his lips, dark eyes fixated on Light's mouth. Light remembered it all as if it were a live action movie. If L was not in love with him, then he was definitely attracted to him.

Like Misa and Takada, L displayed the signs of infatuation, but L was not like a woman. He didn't want to be loved or cared for, but something else entirely that made Light's stomach churn sickeningly. He saw it in L's eyes, that hard look Light himself had given to every girl he dated. The newborn blew through his lips and pushed the thought away. It was impossible for it to happen anyway. It stated clearly in the rules that it was neither permitted nor possible for a Shinigami to have sex with a human. Besides, just kissing L was skating on thin ice, if not for angering The King, then from Rem's IABD seal.

Light realized he was starting to lose control of himself the night he came to grips with his own death. The tips of his fingers tingled as he recalled running them down L's face and feeling his warmth. Part of Light had wanted to kill him in that moment, but it hadn't been fueled by revenge. It had been that perverse feeling to see and feel blood. Light had wanted to drain L's life away and watch him grow cold, but in the end, the softness of the human's delicate skin was what made him regain his senses.

Maybe Rem really did know what she was doing and he wasn't so immune to the seal after all. There was no way he was going to fall in love with L, but Light admitted that there was a very real danger of becoming obsessed with him. Shinigami weren't known for their self control and commonly developed obsessions whether they were born or human-spawned. Death Gods were also creatures that acted on impulse, not killing to judge, but to survive. That was one of the reasons along with their bodily limits why they remained so incorruptible when it came to killing.

Light felt that awful feeling from that night return. He was being molded into something else. The impulses and desires he had trained himself to never feel were being released as everything that made him human melted away. Light closed his eyes to shut out L's hunched figure and calm himself.

_You're getting ahead of yourself, _he thought. _Calm down. You just need to focus. There was no way Rem could know that I'd meet L again. Ryuk may have told her he was going to recommend me to The King, but there was no way she could have planned for this to happen. Dalil was right. She was desperate. I have no intention of sacrificing my life for Ryuzaki's. But that kiss…_

The kiss had been something else entirely, and it had taken all of Light's fading self control not to go further. L's lips had been clammy and dry, but regardless of their unpleasant feel they were brimming with life. L's heart had hammered away in his chest, making Light's hunger intensify. The feeling of life, when Light's body was so cold, was like a drug.

Light remembered L's fingers unfeelingly stroking his hair that night, and how his imagination twisted them into the skeletal claws of the white Shinigami he murdered. Light had been on his knees before Rem, who had been petting him as if he were a small cat; smiling serenely as he played into her last trap. He could practically hear her low voice in his mind,

"_Very good Light Yagami, feel for him. Don't let him die. Interfere. Exchange your life for his. I did the same for Misa."_

"I need to think of a new way to get names," L suddenly spoke up, successfully jarring Light from his thoughts.

"True, L is no doubt starting to catch on that you're getting your source from the British news." The Shinigami tore his heavy gaze away from L's battered shoulders to look into his piercing black eyes. Strangely enough, the ex-detective had yet to mention the kiss or the incident in the alley, much to Light's relief. Part of him wanted to forget the whole incident, while another part wanted to exploit on the kiss, to conquer the human and make him submit. The contradicting thoughts were giving him a migraine.

Even the way he felt about L was opposite in every way shape and form. He was still disappointed in the memory loss, but had grown used to it and rather thankful. However, he was still in awe of how one minute L seemed so much like his old self, when the next he seemed to be a completely different person. His reaction to being kissed was so unlike the old L. Had Light pulled a stunt like that when he had been alive, there was no doubt that his face would have been met with L's foot.

"Any ideas?" L ventured. "Or are you just going to stare off into space?" Light glared briefly before trying to come up with a solution.

"Well, to get names from all over the world, you need an internet connection. But you barely make enough to keep this room and eat, let alone pay for online services."

"There are twenty libraries in Nottingham that offer free internet provided you have a library card," L stated. "Unfortunately, to get a library card you need an I.D. which I lack. Also, all this news coverage is not helping. The news stations around here have reported a few of the worst criminals in other countries, such as the serial killer in Russia and that corrupted politician in America, but including those, that's only five foreign names out of the 68 British criminals I've written down so far. Thankfully, most of those criminals were in London, so that offers me some protection along with the fact you found me a new route to work. But if my profiling of L is correct, from what you've told me about him, then he'll be concentrating his efforts on where the first murder took place.

"L knows that I'm in England, there's no doubt about that. The issue is if he finds out what city I'm in. Nottingham doesn't have a huge population like London, and thanks to the media blabbing about George Monroe and Peter Shane, there's a 30 percent chance L will find my old route to the bus station, meaning he'll find where I work, narrowing his suspects down to the employees." L gave a frustrated sigh and threw the pen down. "The only for sure way not to get caught is to quit my job, but that's impossible."

"You could always just steal someone else's library card," Light offered.

"True, but the problem there is what happens when they report their card missing," L murmured, his teeth working around his thumbnail. "I could always use the 23 day rule and control them for as long as possible and have them die in an accident, but that would go against my morals. I can't just kill innocent people."

Light let himself think for a moment. L did indeed need internet connections if he was going to spread out his judgments. He thought about just killing Near himself, but immediately ruled the possibility out. He wasn't sure how long Near had left to live and doubted if his body was able to absorb much lifespan after Beatrice Wilcott. Besides, if he killed Near in favor of L then he'd die.

"_Protect a human, you die. Simple and clean."_

L was looking at him expectantly as he thought. There had to be something. Suddenly, a new idea hit him. Sure he wasn't allowed to give L names, but there was nothing in the rules that stated he wasn't allowed to tell him which humans were bad or not. That was where the auras came in handy. Humans surrounded by a red aura were of ill intent. Light smiled to himself and met L's gaze.

"I may not be able to tell you names, but I am able to tell you which humans are of ill will." L's large eyes remained impassive.

"How, may I ask?" he questioned.

"My eyes color code humans to where I can see their intent."

"Really?" Light nodded.

"That night that woman was attacked, she was blue, while the two men were red."

"I see," L murmured thoughtfully. "Your eyes are pretty amazing aren't they?" Light's smile flickered briefly, not liking L's tone. It was almost like he was going in for an interrogation.

"They are pretty useful."

"You never answered my question." It took Light a moment to compose his facial expression into one of confusion when he knew exactly what L was thinking. That question that had been brought up two weeks before. L's deep black eyes glared into Light's own. The Shinigami kept his gaze empty, not willing to be pushed forward on his own. L didn't bother to wait him out. "Is it possible for a human to have your eyes?"

In the five painfully long seconds Light didn't answer the question, he knew it was futile to lie. L was wearing an face that reeked of suspicion and because of his hesitation, there was no way L was going to believe a denial. If the answer had simply been no, Light wouldn't have had to wait those few precious seconds to gather his blank thoughts.

The Death God watched L's expectant face, feeling his own suspicion rise.

How had L figured out the eye trade? Perhaps the human was remembering a little more than he was letting on. If that were true, then Light had to be careful and make sure L didn't figure out too much. Last night he had lied through his teeth, and though L seemed to accept his answer about being a suspect, he obviously didn't believe it.

Light instantly decided to end L's life himself if the ex-detective regained all his memories. Despite the fact he only had one week and five months left on his lifespan, in that short amount of time, an L with all his memories was an L with unlimited resources; the biggest one, Near.

If L remembered who he was, then Light knew his next move would be to contact his heir with plans to destroy the notebook. The Shinigami could not allow that. If the notebook was destroyed, then his approval in the Shinigami Realm was going to drop like lead. He hadn't forgotten his invisible audience, and knew that if the volunteered Death Note ever came to harm, he wasn't going to be given another one. He'd lose his last chance to make a perfect world.

Of course, L had already dug himself in a hole by writing, but Light doubted Near would arrest him. L was Near's idol, and though the little shit seemed to be made of marble when Light met him, he had been young. Light guessed he was anywhere from fourteen to nineteen, meaning a very smooth-talking L might be able to bullshit him into believing Light was the one to blame. Light knew he played a hand in making L write, but the final decision had all been L's. He could have easily let Mandy Kelly be raped by George Monroe and Peter Shane or let Brandon Goodwall get away with hurting a child, but he chose to stop them. L was Kira. Light was just the puppeteer in the shadows, and like any puppeteer, if the puppet malfunctioned, then he had every right to destroy it regardless of how fond he grew of it.

So he'd kill L, no problem, but the issue was the eye trade. If L agreed, was Light obligated to grant his wish? Now that he knew he was absorbing part of that human's life, just the thought of having a piece of L inside him made his icy skin crawl. Best to get it over with and pray this new L was smart enough to refuse.

"For half of your lifespan, I can give you a watered-down version of my eyes. You will be able to see the name and lifespan of every human. However, if another person owns a Death Note, you will not be able to see their lifespan. You will also not have the ability to see a person's auras." L's eyes finally left Light to stare up at the ceiling, his teeth munching away at his nonexistent nail. Light watched him carefully and stiffened as the human redirected his gaze at him.

"For half my life?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you inform me of this trade before?" Light lowered his gaze to L's bare feet, where his toes were bending against the edge of his chair. The Shinigami hoped his silence was enough to let L know the truth. There was a sharp intake of breath before L spoke again. "I see."

"I'm sorry," Light sighed. "I really am."_ Especially if you remember more than you should, in which case your life might get even shorter, _he added within his mind.

"How long?" L's voice was quiet, yet strangely calm. If Light didn't know him so well, then he might have believed L accepted his obviously short life.

"I can't tell you. It's forbidden," the Shinigami said.

"Will it hurt?"

"I don't know. I don't know how it will happen, I just know when it will happen."

"No, I mean will it hurt to die?" L's penetrating stare rested heavily upon him, and Light felt a part of himself break. He didn't want to think back on that night. He relived it enough. Yes, it had hurt to die. The pain from the initial wounds didn't stop when his soul separated from his body. It had been blackness, fueled by his awful screaming and agony. The only relief came when Ryuk's hand grabbed him, pulling his soul up and away from the darkness and misery, cackling wildly.

"Best get back to writing," Light advised, breaking eye contact with the ex-detective. L took the hint, knowing arguing with Light was pointless, and turned back to the notebook. The small television belted out a last round of names before the news concluded. "You didn't kill them all," Light observed, looking over the human's shoulder.

"No," L replied, closing the coded journal, and placing it in the drawer of his desk. "Minor criminals don't deserve death."

"Really? And what do you consider a minor criminal?"

"You seriously can't expect me to kill everyone who smokes in a public place right? That's illegal here, but you get the few troublemakers that do it anyway. You want me to kill them?" Light watched him carefully.

"No, that's overdoing it," Light reasoned. "You want to get the people to trust your judgment, and killing every jerk that happens to light one up on the subway might turn them away."

"What do you mean, 'I want the people to trust my judgment'?" L questioned, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, the first Kira was caught only six months ago. If you've really watched the news, you'd see that people are starting to celebrate his return. You might want to start out small to get them used to the idea of Kira passing judgment again."

"You make it sound like I'm taking over the world." At this, Light knew there was a fight brewing. Of course their ideologies had to clash eventually. Even if L didn't remember who he was and even if he was more enlightened now than in his past life, he was still L and Light was still the original Kira.

"Well, there has to be a supreme judgment in the world," Light reasoned. "The courts are corrupted and criminals go free all the time. It's up to you to make a perfect world."

"And that's where we differ. 'Perfect world'," L murmured quietly, staring up at the Shinigami. Light's eyes drifted away from his stare's harshness, and rested on the healing cuts and bruises on his shoulders. In that moment, something in his brain slipped away and the deformed fingers of his right hand tingled, wanting to feel the marred flesh. "I've told you, a perfect world is impossible, and I'm not a god."

"Then what are you?" Light questioned. He was beginning to lose himself again. A sort of feverish haze was descending upon his mind. He tried to look away from the human's wounds, but found them irresistibly intriguing. The skin around the cuts was inflamed, proof that his body was working to repair itself. Even after two weeks, the injuries had yet to heal all the way. Light wondered what would happen if his body was damaged. Did it have the ability to fix itself? A pang of envy struck him and he suddenly wanted to damage L's body further and watch it knit back together. That was the gift of the living. Their bodies could heal, while a Death God's was permanently frozen.

The Shinigami bit the inside of his cheek, pain the only thing penetrating the haze enough to where he still didn't act on the impulse.

Blood. Life. Warmth. Oh, how he wanted to sink his claws into L's collarbone and draw forth the warm blood that was the human's life. He wanted L's flesh to fix itself. A living body was so complex, every system worked in unison; a complex machine. A living organism was a technology no scientist or mechanic could ever hope master. Why hadn't Light appreciated the wonder that was his body while he still had the chance? A Shinigami was a dead entity that suckled on the life of the living in order to merely exist.

Light was supposed to disappear 40 seconds after Ryuk wrote his name in the Death Note, but this was worse than disappearing. This was like drowning and never being able to pass out, floundering with the constant burn in his lungs. Some primordial desire to live wanted to taste and feel life. Light curled his human hand into a fist, determined not to lose control.

"I'm simply a vigilante. I want to help the police out by getting rid of dangerous criminals, not kill every purse snatcher and smuggler," L said. He turned his pale neck slightly, and Light bit down even harder. The tingling in his right hand became unbearable.

"They're still criminals." _I'm losing it. No. I'm not like other Shinigami. Rem held herself back and so can I. But Rem died for Misa. Does that mean she didn't have control? No! I'm better than that. I don't need this. _

"Not all criminals deserve death," L replied. Light barely heard what he was saying as he fought with himself. Where had all his mental conditioning gone? He wasn't a creature that acted on impulse. He wasn't like Rem or Ryuk, who let their obsessions control them. "As long as they don't hurt anyone, I see no point in ending their life."

"Well, a purse snatcher could definitely hurt someone." _That's right, get angry. Argue, stay human. Do not let it affect you. _"What if he stole a purse from an old lady who had her medication inside of it?"

"Then it'd be her fault for carrying such an important item in her purse."

"Well, that's needlessly cold," Light observed, letting a smile curve his lips. His mind was in utter agony. Why did L have to wear loose fitting shirts in order to spite him? Why couldn't he just ignore his existence like last time? _Argue with him, _he demanded within his mind. "What if it was an inhaler that she needed to keep on her person?"

"Then she could always use her pockets," L argued.

"That still doesn't rule out pickpockets and the simple fact that stealing at all is wrong." Light noticed that he was slowly but surely inching closer and closer to the ex-detective and halted his progress, panicking silently. The haze was thickening and he had successfully bitten through the tender lining inside his mouth. The lack of blood from the injury made the drowning sensation worse.

"Be that as it may, a murderer or rapist deserves death, whereas a thief, although harmful, is not out to take anyone's life."

"But they still hurt innocent people. So you'll let them get away with it?" Light let a hint of mocking leak into his tone. This was one of the most difficult feats he ever attempted, keeping the stubbornly righteous front on the surface, while on the inside he was desperately trying to scramble for control over his ridiculously strong impulse to attack. His breathing had increased and it was becoming harder to keep quiet. Although it was unnecessary to stay alive, it was one of the last remaining functions that kept the fragile surface of his humanity whole.

"I'll let the police deal with them," L said. "They need jobs too. Like I said, I'm not a god."

"But you picked up the book. That means you have the responsibility to protect the weak," Light persisted.

"I will protect those whose lives are in danger. And yes, I did pick up the book. However, _I_ will decide what to do with it and how to proceed wi-"

Light's paper thin resolve exploded as soon as L asserted dominance. The dark part that knew L was attracted to him lunged. The Shinigami threw himself into L, knocking the human off of his chair.

"What are you doing?!" L demanded, shoving hard against Light's shoulders. Light barely felt his struggles. His eyes grew hooded as he stared down at L's slightly annoyed and slightly fearful expression. "Get off." Light's mouth split into a grin as his claws ran down L's cheek before resting over his the rise of his collarbone.

"I can hear your heart," Light murmured, pressing one of his claws down hard on a particularly nasty gash. L hissed in pain as the blood swelled around the newborn's finger. The Shinigami tilted his head, pleased to see a trail of crimson following the path of the claw.

"I'm warning you, get off of me!" L snapped, masking his nervousness with anger.

"Or you'll do what?" Light grinned, and stared deeply into the human's heavily guarded eyes. L shuddered in revulsion beneath him and let his fingers twist into Light's hair, trying to pull the Shinigami's head away. Light felt the yanks and L's knees pounding into his abdomen, but it was like a small child kicking at a brick wall. He was fighting like a trapped animal, but Light didn't feel pain by physical wounds.

L's heart was pounding in his ears and his thin body was warm beneath him as his hands rested on the human's shoulders. Light loved the dominance, loved to see L fighting in vain under him. Even now as the human tried to give him a blank, cold stare, Light saw the hint of terror dawning on his face. The Shinigami was much stronger than him, and he was sick. Light knew he was sick and tried to stop himself.

It was just too good. L was trying to beat his shoulders and head, but Light didn't so much as twitch. The sensation that had been plaguing his right hand was terrible and he gave in to letting the tips of his long black claws ghost along the human's jugular. A slight pressure would end the human's life. Again, Light wanted to kill him, to have his blood soak his disgusting hand. All these impulses were flying though his mind, and the careful barrier he had constructed in life was absent. He wanted to feel L's life drain from his body, yet he also wanted to keep L alive, to exploit on the kiss they shared those weeks ago. It was all so inconsistent, the need to kill and the need to take. Everything regarding L was inconsistent and contradicting, that was the beauty of it.

Light pulled back again, his smile wide as he stared down at the helpless L. The human was still trying to look brave, his black hair splayed against the carpet and his chest rising and falling rapidly. Both of his hands were on either side of Light's shoulders as he still attempted to push him away. An awful giggle escaped the newborn's lips, and suddenly, L's hands went through Light's shoulders. The Shinigami made himself untouchable and L's false anger faded into a look of absolute horror.

Light knew that without anything to grab on, L was going to panic. It was like being held down by a ghost, unable to push it away and not even able to touch or feel it. Light only watched him squirm, still smiling. Tiny trails of blood seeped from the scratches, for most had been reopened due to the struggle. L was revolted and scared, but Light had never been happier. That drowning sensation was eased due to being so close to something alive. Finally, L stopped his struggling and glared up at Light, his mouth a taunt line.

Light let his stare drift from the human's face to his chest where he noticed the scratches were still bleeding. L's attempt to spite him had turned Light's attack into another darker impulse. The thick haze surged his brain. Blood was an organism's life. Even now, L's body was warm and his fear was pungent in the air. Slowly, Light lowered his head and let his tongue peak between his lips to lick at the droplets.

As soon as he tasted the salty tang, he jerked his head back, the haze thinning to allow the very human feeling of disgust. What the hell was wrong with him? He had never gone this far before. He had wanted to feel blood and see it, but he never wanted to taste it. His eerie grin had faded into a look of shock and he lifted his face to stare into L's eyes once more.

"Do you want to kill me Light?" L asked, his voice even.

"Yes," Light answered honestly, his own voice strained. "And no."

"You're disgusting," L whispered venomously. A flash of old hatred bubbled within the Shinigami and his shocked and horrified expression morphed into one of anger. He sank his claws in the back of L's shoulders, more blood pooling around the puncture wounds and staining the carpet. L yelped, but snapped his mouth shut and instead growled through clenched teeth. Light made sure it stung, made sure that the tips of his talons grazed the pathetic excuse for muscle before leaning in to whisper into L's ear.

"Remember this moment," he hissed. "You can't fight me off, so don't count me out."

With that, Light flapped his wings and released L from his hold, suddenly and utterly disgusted with himself. L had returned to his usual sitting position staring at Light with a new form of hatred. The Shinigami held the eye contact steadily, although he was deeply ashamed. Rem wasn't as stupid as he thought. Shinigami had obsessions and desires that they were unable to ignore. If L became Light's obsession, then Light had to kill him. There were now two instances where L had to die, and yet his lifespan remained unaffected, neither lengthening nor decreasing.

"Goodnight," L said stiffly after a moment, cautiously creeping by Light to get to his cot. It was still daylight outside, but L was determined to get sleep before returning to the grocery store that night.

"Night," Light whispered, drifting to the other side of the tiny room. How could he have let himself do that? There were no more impulses or flickering desires, yet despite that they were satisfied for the time being, Light felt like he lost something important, like he had lost an important battle.

The feeling of drowning overcame him again, and just like before he was forced to endure the burning inside of him without escape.

* * *

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